When You're Out of Options
by Requiescat in Pace il Ti Amor
Summary: Altaїr has been transported forward in time by the Apple of Eden, and he comes face to face with none other than Alex J. Mercer, the man with the most kills under his belt in that time period. How will killer react to killer? Rated M for later chapters AltairxAlex, Don't like boylove? Don't read.
1. Chapter 1: First Encounter

**Author's Note: My story has an image now! All thanks to jaderotaski on DeviantArt! Such a wonderful person~ Thank you again! Here's a link to jaderotaski's DA. All props to the owner of the pic: **

* * *

Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad sat in the dark shadows of his study, hunched over his desk, scribbling away with a quill. His hands were stained with ink, and his eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt. When was the last time he had eaten? He couldn't remember...When was the last time he'd bathed? That was a mystery as well. Maria...where was Maria? Had she returned from the market? What day was it? All these thoughts rushed through Altaїr's mind as the glowing orb before him released his consciousness. He dropped his quill and sat back in his seat, sighing heavily. His stomach gave a roar of a growl, and his cramped innards told him he had perfunctory needs to attend. Once those were out of the way, he could return to his study.

Standing, Altaїr made his way through the dark study, feeling for the door. When he opened it, he hissed and covered his eyes with one arm flung before him. Sunlight stabbed at his eyes through the window directly across the hall from the door to his study.

"Damn it all," he muttered as his eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light. He stalked out in to the main room and kicked a pillow grumpily. He visited the outhouse, and did his business there, then returned to the study door, contemplating retrieving something to eat. If he did, he would probably meet Maria somewhere...if he didn't, he might not resurface from the Apple for days yet, and by that point, he might be close to starvation. So, he walked to the kitchen where tantalizing smells from the home-made sun-dried brick oven lay in the back corner of the room. Freshly baked Masa bread lay on a slab of wood that served as a cutting board. Maria was nowhere in sight. Surely she wouldn't mind if he took just a small piece? Or the whole loaf...his stomach agreed with that.

He reached out to take the bread, and yelped when a piece of wood struck his hand. Maria emerged from the doorway beside the oven with a scowl on her face, and a wooden rolling pin in her hand. "And just what do you think you're doing?" her strangely accented voice demanded.

Altaїr rubbed his hand begrudgingly and muttered, "I was hungry..."

"Then you'd best find something else to eat," Maria said primly. "I spent all day making this bread. I won't have your thieving little fingers touching it until dinner. Especially while they've got ink on them." She made a distasteful sound. "Look at you," she said, gesturing to him with the frightening rolling pin. "You're a mess! I leave for three days, come back, and you still haven't learned how to take care of yourself."

Apparently three days had passed. That wasn't the longest the Apple had enthralled him, but it was still daunting knowing that he'd lost three days. He didn't even remember Maria telling him she was leaving. "I'll wash up," he sighed.

"Right you will. And I'll make sure you do, too," the English woman growled.

Don't get him wrong, Altaїr loved his wife to the depths of his soul, but the woman could be downright scary sometimes. She grabbed him by his right wrist and hauled him to the Sanctuary bathhouse, stripping him of his gear efficiently and so swiftly that it seemed he'd gone from fully clothed to butt naked in the blink of an eye. It astonished Altaїr, and he didn't even have time to protest when she shoved him unceremoniously into the bath.

After flailing helplessly for a moment in the water, Altaїr got his feet under him and thrust himself to the surface, spluttering and gasping. He looked up at his wife in indignant astonishment. "Was that really necessary?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Maria said with a smirk. She crossed her arms under her breasts, outlining them in the white tunic she wore over brown pants. "Now start washing. Or do I have to come in after you and do it myself?"

Hurriedly, Altair grabbed one of the numerous ceramic bottles of soap from the side of the tub and dumped some into his hand, scrubbing his hair. He looked pointedly up at her and she gave a satisfied nod before leaving. Sighing, Altaїr scrubbed less vigorously, cleaning himself while he contemplated what he had learned from the apple. He often found himself brooding, and it wasn't until Maria interrupted his thoughts usually that he realized he was doing it. This time, it was the sting of the soap in his eyes that brought him back to the present. He finished washing, and left the bathhouse with a towel wrapped around his waist. He'd have to retrieve new robes so Maria could wash his other one.

"Happy?" he asked as he passed the kitchen where his wife was kneading another mound of dough. He gestured to his naked chest, which glistened with water.

"Very," she said as she rinsed her hands off in a basin. As she dried them, she walked toward Altaїr and looked him over. She stretched up and kissed him softly, lovingly. Just as he started to return the kiss, she pulled back and whispered against his lips, "You need to shave," and then turned around and returned to her dough.

Frustrated, Altaїr sighed heavily and continued down the hall. He passed his study on the way, and the golden gleam of the object of his obsession caught his eye. He pushed the ajar door open slightly, peering in through the darkness of his cold cave. The Apple seemed to beckon him closer, call to him, and he wanted to answer that call. He wanted to answer it more than he had wanted anything in his life. Slowly, he took a step into the study, followed by another, and yet another. He closed the door behind him, and walked to the desk where the Apple of Eden sat. He picked up his quill again and started writing as the voices whispered through his mind, caressing his thoughts like a long-lost lover.

The familiar whispers and murmurs flowed down his arm and around his hand, but it felt different this time. Somehow, he felt warmth along his skin, despite the chill of the dark room. He set his quill down and looked at the Apple for a moment.

_Take it up_ one of the voices whispered, and a chorus of others responded in kind, whispering the phrase over and over. Altaїr blinked at the Apple and shuddered, but reached out and picked it up. He caressed its smooth, alien surface. The cold metal glowed in his hand, and he stroked the dark lines on the metalwork, admiring it in its entirety. Then, something surprising happened. The glow around the orb extended to his hands, and started traveling down his forearms. Panicked and more than a little frightened, Altaїr set the Apple on his desk again, but the glow did not dissipate. In fact, it grew stronger. He stood sharply, tucking his towel firmly around his waist as he hurried toward the door.

"Maria!" he shouted, staring with wide eyes at his arms, which glowed from the tips of his fingers to his shoulders. His breathing quickened as his chest began glowing as well. "Maria! Come quickly!"

He heard hurried footsteps in the hallway, and he stepped out to meet Maria. She stumbled to a halt and looked at him with wide eyes. "Altaїr! What is happening?" she asked. "W-why are you glowing?"

"I don't know!" Altaїr shouted in a high, panicked voice. "Help me!"

"How am I supposed to help you?" Maria shouted back. She tried to reach out to him, but he ran into his study again, staggering through scrolls that seemed to jump out to meet his legs, and he slapped his hands on the desk when he almost fell. He took up the Apple once again and stared at it through wide round eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked it, trying to listen to the torrent of whispers that flooded from it. He couldn't make sense of any one voice, and he let out a frustrated scream, shaking the Apple. The temptation to throw it across the room was strong, but he resisted. Instead, he clutched it to his chest, breathing hard as he turned to his wife. She stared at him in horror, the emotion plain on her face.

"What has happened to you, Altaїr?" she asked. "You are not the man I married..."

He tried to respond, but his voice would not work. The glow had consumed his torso, neck and head. It traveled down his pelvis and thighs until it reached his knees. As it crept lower, the warm sensation became too hot, and he was convinced he was going to be set aflame. He screamed silently in fear and pain, but no blisters appeared on his glowing skin. The glow lit his entire body, and then flashed brightly. In that flash, he heard Maria scream, and then the sound cut off abruptly. He opened his eyes to see white, nothing but white, and then he felt a falling sensation. His stomach tried to push out of his abdomen with the speed of his fall, and as abruptly as the sensation had started, it ended, and he smashed into something very solid. He let out a pitiful sound, and his arm rolled out to the side, the Apple slipping from his fingers and halting a few inches away. It looked as if it had been covered in soot from a fire pit, and the sun made its scorched surface appear even darker. Slowly, he slipped into unconsciousness, glad to be away from the pain of the impact and that sickening warmth that still surrounded him.

Midnight came and went, and still, Alex ordered drinks. The bartender had threatened to cut him off, but the hooded man had only to lift his gaze from his drink to persuade the barkeep otherwise. His blue eyes focused on the amber liquid in his cup, and he lifted it to his lips, draining it in a single gulp.

"Another," he ordered.

"Sorry buddy," the barkeep said in a tone that was far from sorry, "we're closed."

Alex sniffed and stood.

"You have to pay for the drinks," the bartender protested.

"I have paid for them. You're still breathing, right?" His voice was as dead as his eyes as he turned to look at the pudgy man behind the counter.

Swallowing hard, the man nodded and looked down at the counter, scrubbing its gleaming surface with a rag. "It's on the house, sir," he said.

Alex walked toward the door and tossed over his shoulder, "Keep the change." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode down the street toward his apartment. A bright flash of light brought his attention to an alleyway a block ahead of him, and he grimaced. "The hell?" he asked aloud. He walked toward the alleyway and frowned up at the angry storm clouds that rolled in overhead. "Weird weather," he muttered.

Even weirder was what he saw when he rounded the corner, looking down the alleyway. A naked man in nothing but a white towel lay spread eagle on the dirty alley floor, and his hand was scorched, reached out toward a black orb. Steam rose off of him as rain started to fall, hissing as it hit his skin. Alex looked up at the sky again and grimaced. "Change that to freaky as hell." Cautiously, Alex made his way down the alleyway, and when nothing jumped up at him, he picked up the orb. It was hot, almost too hot to tolerate, but he scrubbed the surface with his jacket sleeve and found that it was golden underneath. It might be worth something...

Raising a brow, Alex looked down at the haggard man. He had brown hair a little lighter than his own, but it was cut very close to his head. A scar cut across his lips, and the stubble on his jaw didn't grow where the scar occupied. "You're comin' with me," Alex announced, stuffing the orb into his jacket pocket and picking the man up in a fireman's carry, flinging him over his shoulder. He became over balanced for a moment, but steadied himself with a hand on the wall opposite him. "Keep your towel on, buddy, we're not goin' far. You can come back to your naked party when I'm through with you." The man hadn't said a word.


	2. Chapter 2: Getting to Know Each Other

**Okay, so I'm starting to get the hang of Alex's personality, but if you see any bugs or anything that don't fit his personality, let me know. Other than that, comment comment comment! I can't improve without feedback~ Thanks for reading! And stay fast! The smut will come soon. If you know what I mean~**

* * *

The apartment was scarcely furnished, mainly because its occupant wasn't home enough to enjoy any special decoration—not that he would if he actually spent time there. In the living room sat a small couch with a loveseat adjacent to it, a coffee table placed strategically in front of them for proper foot resting. A television which had never been turned on had been pushed up against the far wall with a painting above that.

In the small kitchen, there was no food, and the stove had never been used. A breakfast nook took up the rest of the room in the main entrance of the apartment, and that was where the occupant sat, his head bowed in slumber and his arms crossed over his chest. He might have appeared peaceful if not for the ungodly sound drifting from his mouth.

From his vantage point in the bedroom, which was perpendicular to the breakfast nook, Altaїr could clearly make out his capture, but he couldn't see who he was exactly. The sound was reminiscent of some ancient beast in heat, but the assassin was pretty sure it was snoring...pretty sure.

"You!" he shouted this time, much louder than he had the last. "Boy! Untie me this instant!" He tugged at the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the bed frame, and he gritted his teeth when still the boy did not waken. "Moron!" he all but roared. The hooded figure jerked awake, and lifted its head. He turned toward the bedroom door, and Altaїr felt a rush of irritated relief. "Finally," he muttered. "Now come untie me!"

The man grunted and stood, walking out of the view of the bedroom door. "Wait! Come back!" Altaїr struggled and strained against the ropes. If he'd had his hidden blade, cutting the ropes wouldn't have been a problem, but he still only wore the towel he'd had before he'd...well, before he'd woken up. He had no recollection of what had happened, only that he was somewhere unfamiliar, and someone he didn't know had tied him to a bed—or so he assumed he had.

"Shut up," the man growled from in the other room. "I'll be in there in a minute." An odd smell reached Altaїr's nose. It was strangely...nice. Sort of like roasted cocoa beans, but different, stronger, and more rich. It made the assassin's mouth water. The smell grew stronger as the other man stepped into the doorway, holding a white cup where steam rolled off in steady waves

"Who are you?" Altaїr asked, ignoring the less important question of what that delicious smell was that buzzed on his tongue. "Tell me where I am."

The man remained silent for a moment, his eyes shadowed by his hood. "I am called Zeus," he said. "That is all you need to know about me. As for where you are, you are in Manhattan."

Frowning, Altaїr repeated the name awkwardly. "I am unfamiliar with this land. Am I still in the Holy Lands?"

Zeus's hooded head turned slightly to the side, and Altaїr could almost feel the scowl on the other's face. "Buddy, you are seriously confused," he said, his deep voice as bland as the room they were in. "This is Manhattan, New York. You know, United States of America?"

"America?" the assassin repeated to himself. "What is that? Nevermind that. Untie me!"

The hooded man raised his cup to his mouth and sipped at length, making a pleased sound. "Nope," he said. "Not gonna."

"What?" Altaїr demanded, scowling. He forced himself to calm down. If he let his anger get the better of him, that wouldn't help the situation at all. Instead, he said slowly, "Why are you holding me prisoner?"

Zeus let out a bark of monotone laughter and said, "You think I'm holding you prisoner? Buddy, I saved your life. You were sprawled in the middle of an alleyway butt naked and unconscious. Someone could've come along and done you in right then and there. I still don't know why I helped you."

Altaїr grimaced. The thought of owing this man a favor left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Do you expect compensation for your troubles? I have no money," he said. "Nor have I anything to trade."

"I don't want anything you have," Zeus said, sipping from his cup again. "I'm more interested in how you came across this." He pulled a familiar golden orb from his pocket, tossing it in the air and catching it again. The black soot that had coated it before was gone, but it had lost its illustrious golden glow, and looked dull in comparison to its former glory.

"Be careful with that!" Altaїr shouted, straining against the ropes again. "Do not throw it like that! It is extremely valuable!"

The figure stopped mid-toss and leaned against the doorframe. "How valuable?" he asked.

"It is of no value to you," Altaїr muttered. "Only to those who seek to use it for knowledge."

Zeus examined the Apple for a moment. "Even with all the scratches and dents, this would fetch a hefty price. I think I'll sell it. Should prove interesting." He turned away then.

"No!" Altaїr snarled. "Give me the Apple! It is mine!"

The hooded figure paused in his step, looking over his shoulder but not turning around. "The Apple?" he asked. "_The_ Apple? As in the Apple of Eden?"

The master assassin froze. "How do you know that name?" he asked, immediately aware of everything in the room, the gentle breeze from the open window, the strange sound of loud horns blaring outside. "Are you a Templar come to kill me?"

Zeus remained silent for a moment. "Say that I am," he said nonchalantly, "what then?"

Altaїr snorted distastefully. "You are no Templar agent. You would have killed me already if you were. Why wait until I wake? I am one of the Knights Templar's most formidable adversaries. You would be a fool to let me live this long."

"Pretty full of yourself," Zeus said, draining his cup of its contents. "You up to proving just how 'formidable' you are?"

"Obviously not, seeing as how I am...tied up."

"And naked," Zeus added. "Can't forget the naked part."

Irritation caused Altaїr's eyebrow to twitch, and he pulled at his restraints. "If you would release me," he shouted so Zeus could hear him as he left the room again, "then I would be able to find some clothing! I'll kill you if I must."

"Unlikely," Zeus called from the other room. "But, it's good that you're willing to try. 'Don't give up,' 'keep looking on the bright side,' 'silver linings' and such. Valiant effort, really."

"Your terms are foreign to me, and I have no time to discuss what they mean. I must return home. My people need me right now. We are on the brink of war!"

"War?" came the echo from the other room. "And where is this war taking place?"

Altaїr sighed in exasperation and leaned his head back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. His head was beginning to ache... "In Masyaf. I was supposed to speak to the Rafik in Jerusalem before all of...this...happened."

"And what is 'all of this?' " Zeus called. "Do you know how you ended up in an alleyway butt naked halfway across the world from where you're supposed to be?"

"Halfway across the..." His voice trailed off as he began to think of what could have happened. "The Apple," he breathed. "It...It must have transported me here...What year is it? Tell me!"

The hooded figure reappeared in the doorway with another cup of that delicious smelling drink. He sipped it. "Twenty-twelve," he said. "Why does it matter?"

Altaїr's heart staggered in his chest, and he felt faint. Over eight hundred years...he was over eight hundred years in the future, and he had no idea how to return to his own time, if it was even possible. He suddenly felt a pang of loss, remembering how frightened Maria looked when she last saw him, glowing in that terrible way from the Apple's influence. He shuddered at how she must have thought of him.

"I'm dreaming," he concluded. "Or...or I've gone insane. The Apple must have corrupted my mind. That has to be it. This is impossible...Time travel can't exist!"

"Welcome to the twenty first century, where nothing makes sense, and everyone thinks they're right," Zeus said sarcastically. "Now, are you going to tell me what you're freaking out about? Or do I just have to stand here and try to figure it out for myself? I don't care either way. It's almost entertaining watching you struggle."

Altaїr glared at Zeus and pulled absent-mindedly at the ropes again. "My name is Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad, and I am from the year eleven-ninety one. Something has happened that has sent me here to your time, and I suspect it has been caused by what you hold in your hand. That orb could very well be my only way back to my own time, and I need it back. Please, release me. I need to return to my own time so I can lead my assassins into war."

"Assassins, huh?" Zeus said, the first hint of anything other than irritating neutrality coming into his voice. "Interesting. I might think about releasing you. But for the time being, I'm going out for some grub. You want anything? No? Good. Sleep tight pretty boy."

"Wait!" Altaїr called when Zeus shut the door. "Wait! Damn it!"

* * *

Alex walked down the streets of Manhattan confidently. No one recognized him, because no one who could have posed a threat to him was still alive to his knowledge. He had consumed everyone who had anything to do with the virus that still plagued the city. Manhattan was recovering from the plight, but it was obvious in the wreckage of many neighborhoods where infected were still being purged from how heavy the toll on the city had been. Alex felt no sympathy for the infected, because they had felt no sympathy for him. They'd damned themselves to this plague, and it would snuff out the weak, leaving the strong to deal with him.

Prowling down the rubble-strewn sidewalks of one of the infected neighborhoods, Alex found himself face-to-face with one of the infected. His eyes were red and unfocused, his skin appearing to be melted on one half of his face and Alex assumed the same half of his body, though his tattered and torn clothing hid that bit. "Back off," Alex warned.

The infected man advanced a step.

"I mean it," Alex said as the biomass that made up his right arm began to slither and bubble, forming the wicked double tipped blade he so often used in combat. "You don't want to do this, buddy."

The man was beyond reason, and he lumbered forward, raising a hand and releasing a shriek that made Alex's ears ring, striking out at him. With a smooth movement of ducking, thrusting his arm forward, and side stepping, Alex had cleared the infected being within seconds. He turned back and watched as the man staggered to a halt. He looked down at his body as his torso slowly slid from his waist at a diagonal angle, both halves of him toppling to the ground in a spurt of black blood and thicker bits.

"Told you not to do it," Alex muttered, his arm returning to its normal state. He slipped his hands into his pockets and continued down the street. Before long, he reached one of the refugee camps where the uninfected had pooled. Several restaurants were still open for business, though they worked off of wood-burning ovens now instead of electric stoves.

"Getcha hot dawgs hea'!" a Brooklyn accented voice shouted above the din. Men, women and children crowded the courtyard, and all of them seemed to have something to say. The sound was dizzying to Alex's enhanced senses for a few moments, but he blocked out what he could, and found it much more tolerable. He stepped up into a line and waited until he was at the counter.

"Four hot dogs," he said, his eyes on the counter.

"Fixin's an' all?" the rotund man asked. _He must be eating his wares more than selling them_, Alex thought bitterly. _Everyone else is starving while he stuffs his fat face._ He thought of his sister, and felt anger bubble up in his chest.

"Yes," he muttered.

The vender paused and then crossed his arms, his sausage-like fingers drumming on his arm. "Show me yer face, boy. I don' like the looks o' ya."

Alex lifted his head enough to show his eyes, and he knew that the sickly gray glow that showed instead of the whites of his eyes was present. "Just get me my food, and we won't have a problem," he said, irritation beginning to gnaw at his patience.

"Pffut! I don' haveta serve the likes o' you. I got 'undreds o' people 'ere lookin' to buy some hot dawgs. So git outta the way fer my payin' customers." He waved the next person up, but the man behind Alex stayed put—smart man.

"Give me what I ordered, or I burn your shop to the ground," Alex said, a smile on his lips this time. His voice was even pleasant, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah right," the vender scoffed, though he sounded a little less sure of himself. "Like I haven't 'eard tha' one before. Move ova'."

Alex lunged forward, grabbed the man's sweaty white shirt by his collar and pulled him across the counter so that his large belly held him up. "I'm only going to request one more time that you give me my food, and then I'm going to redecorate your shop with whatever I pull out of your meaty little body. I might even let you die before I start, though I'm sure I'll want your opinion on the paint job before you expire."

The vendor's eyes widened, and he began sweating. The stench of fear rolled off of him, and he held his hands up in surrender. " 'Ey, man, I'm jus' tryin' to make a livin' here. L-l-lemme go, and I'll getcha yer order. Hell, I'll double it, and you can have it f-free!"

After a moment, Alex released the vender and flicked his hand distastefully, wiping the sweat off on a nearby person's shirt. "That's all I wanted," he said calmly. He hadn't expended any energy to pull that off, and he'd managed to scare the majority of the crowd around him. How did he know? There was suddenly a seven foot circle of clear space around him, when there had only moments before been barely enough room to breathe.

The vendor placed a white plastic bag with several tin-foil wrapped packages on the counter, and Alex took the bag, wading through the crowd once again. It didn't take him long to return home, and once he did, he set the bag on the table in his breakfast nook and removed one of the tin foil packages. He hadn't even unwrapped the hot dog before he dropped it on to the table and whirled around, his biomass blade meeting that of the steel kitchen knife his live-in captive swung at him.

Altaїr, who had found some pants somewhere, though they were not zipped up, snarled in rage and drew the knife back for yet another strike, but Alex had grabbed his opposite wrist and twisted his arm behind his back before the assassin could even bring the knife down on him again.

"Pretty light on your feet there, eh Twinkle Toes?" Alex sneered.

"My name is—"

" Altaїr Ibn'La blah blah blah blah. Yes, I know. Now, I'm not going to hand feed you, but if you try to run again," he twisted Altaїr's arm up behind his back farther, causing the assassin to lift up onto the tips of his toes, "I'm going to run you through with my blade. Understood?"

Altaїr remained quiet, just breathing hard. He cried out when Alex gave his arm a definite shove, and he snarled, "Understood!"

"Good," Alex said, releasing Altaїr so suddenly that the shorter male dropped to his knees, the knife falling from his hand. Alex kicked the knife away from the assassin and walked back to the table, his arm returning to its normal state as he picked up another of the hot dogs. He tossed it over his shoulder, hearing Altaїr stumble to catch it. "Eat," he ordered.

Sitting at the table, Alex devoured one hot dog, and then another, slowing only after he'd consumed both and started in on the third.

"What is this?" Altair said, setting the package down and poking the bun.

"It's a hot dog," Alex said through a mouthful of the same.

"It is dog?" Altaїr asked. "I didn't think any but those in the east ate dog..."

"No," Alex said, rolling his eyes. "It's all the unmentionable parts of the animals we slaughter blended up into a sausage-like...thing. Just eat it. It's good, trust me."

Altaїr gave Alex a bland look.

"I didn't poison it," Alex muttered, taking another bite of his own hot dog. "Though I can't promise that vendor didn't spit on it."

The assassin's lip curled in disgust. "I'm kidding!" Alex said, exasperated. "Sheesh. If you don't want yours, I'll take it, and you can starve. It's the only thing edible in the apartment, so you either snuff your pride and eat the damn thing, or suffer."

Altaїr looked at the hot dog disdainfully, but his stomach loosed a roar of a growl, persuading him to pick the vile-looking thing up. He gave it a sniff, and then took a tentative bite, chewing with the same hesitance.

"It's..." He looked at the food as if he'd seen the gates of heaven. "Divine! My god! Why haven't I heard of these hot dogs before? They're delicious!" He took another bite before he'd finished the first and chewed with gusto.

Alex watched, unsure whether to be amused or disgusted. "That's New York for ya," he said with a shrug, finishing off his third hot dog. He walked to the refrigerator, which was in perfect working order, and set all but two more hot dogs in the fridge. He emerged with two cold beers and offered a bottle to Altaїr. He took it with a nod of thanks, though had issues with the cap.

"Infernal contraptions," he muttered as Alex flicked the top off easily. He took a sip of the beer and his face screwed up. "What kind of wine is this?" he asked.

"It's not wine," Alex said, flopping down in his seat again. "It's beer. Finest drink there is, if you ask me." He took a swig of his own beer and reclined in his seat. "So. You gonna tell me how you happened upon the Apple of Eden? Or should we start with how you got out of the ropes? That was strong stuff, and I tied the knots myself."

"There is no knot," Altaїr said immediately before another bite, which he had to chew before he could continue, "that an assassin of my rank cannot escape from. If we couldn't," again, another bite, "then we wouldn't be a very good order of assassins, now would we?"

"We," Alex said, frowning. "You keep saying we. Who is 'we?' "

"We are the order of assassins sworn to protect the Holy Lands and all she supports from the Templar menace that encumber the advancement of the human race," Altaїr said, finishing his hot dog. A sour look crossed his face, and he covered his mouth with a fist as he belched. "I feel ill," he commented.

"That's called heart burn," Alex said dismissively. "Drink more beer. Now, what about this war? Why are you fighting? Who are you fighting?"

"The why is more simple than the whom. We fight because it is right. We fight for the freedom of the people from the tyrannical slavery that the Templar Knights would bring down upon us. We fight because each and every one of us has a purpose, a reason to fight, and a reason to die. Whom we fight is more of a mystery. Templars have their eyes and ears everywhere, and I fear even some have infiltrated mine own Order."

"And who makes up your order?" Alex asked. "Do you hold auditions or something to see who can kill the best?"

"Don't be preposterous," Altaїr growled. "We are made up of men and women who seek revenge on the Templars, and who want to appease for their sins, whatever they may be."

"How do you keep that going? Don't you fear they'll rise up and try to overthrow you?" Why he was so interested in this man was beyond Alex, but the questions kept popping up in his mind, so he kept asking them.

"We have three tenets, or rules if you will. The first, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. This means do not kill unless the person deserves to die. Second, hide in plain sight. And the third, never compromise the Brotherhood." Altaїr's eyes darkened from a golden amber to nearly a brown color. "The consequences for deserting these tenets and running rogue are...dire."

Alex absorbed this information and nodded "And here I thought I was special," he said with a smirk. "I'm a lab rat, tested on and sent out to destroy the world."

"That sounds like quite a burden," Altaїr commented. "Since you seem to be so efficient, why is the world still here?"

Alex thought on that for a moment and watched a drop of condensation slide down the bottle he held. "I don't know, really," he said thoughtfully. "I guess I decided the world should have a second chance. I'm sure I'll live to regret it, but for now, it may remain as it is." _For now, _he thought.


	3. Chapter 3: Seed of Doubt

"So," Altaїr said, moving to sit on the couch. "You have asked me all of these questions, but I have asked none for myself. Who are you?"

"I told you, my name is Zeus."

Altaїr raised a brow. "Do you not have a surname? Do you not have a father?"

Alex's eyes hardened. "I do have a last name...and I don't remember my father. I don't remember anything about myself. I only remember what those who knew me before remember."

"And how do you know that?" Altaїr asked.

He couldn't very well tell the man that he consumed people to access their memories. The assassin might blow a gasket. "I just do," he settled with. "Now, are those my pants?"

Altaїr looked down at the jeans he wore and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I assume so. I found them in that wooden box in the other room."

"My dresser, you mean," Alex said, flopping down on the loveseat and crossing his ankles on the coffee table

"If that is what it is called, then yes." The assassin looked around the room and frowned. "What is that?" he asked, gesturing to the television.

"It's called a TV. You watch stuff on it," Alex answered. To demonstrate, he picked up the remote and pressed the power button. Immediately, the news flickered to life. How it had ended up on that channel was beyond Alex. He'd never used the television.

Altaїr's eyes widened and he rose slowly, his eyes locked on the screen. "How in the name of God did those people get stuck in there?" He walked to the television and tapped the screen hesitantly. "How do we get them out?" He looked over his shoulder at Alex, who was snickering.

"What year did you say you were from?"

"Eleven ninety-one," Altaїr responded, still bewildered by the little people speaking on the screen.

"Ah. TV's weren't even a glimmer in Pilo Farnsworth's eye."

"Who?"

"Nevermind," Alex sighed. "Come on. You need a shirt." He stood up from the couch and padded toward his room, flicking the television off with the remote, which sent Altaїr onto his ass in surprise. "Hurry up."

Altaїr grimaced at the other's tone, but followed, muttering under his breath about Alex being bossier than a howler monkey. When he entered the room, something made of cloth assaulted his face, and he struggled with it for a moment before pulling it back and looking at it. A picture of a black and white creature with enormous eyes looked back at him, and he frowned. "What is this?" he asked.

"A panda shirt. It's the only thing that's clean. It was my sister's, but it was too big for her. It should fit you," Alex called from inside his closet.

While Altair was struggling into the shirt, a pair of shoes came soaring out of the closet, and he ducked, missing one, but taking the other full in the chest. He grunted at the impact, but picked them up. "Must you throw these things at me?" he asked.

"Yup," Alex said, brushing his hands on his jeans as he kicked the closet door shut.

"Barbarian," Altaїr muttered, sitting on the bed. He frowned at the shoes. "I do not know how to put these on."

"You call me a barbarian, and you can't even tie your own shoes?" Alex sniffed. "Hypocrite."

"Just help me," Altaїr growled, fed up with the other's games.

"Whatever." Alex surprised himself by actually surrendering to the task. He knelt down on one knee and helped the assassin with the shoe laces. It was embarrassing having to teach a grown man how to tie shoe laces, but he swallowed his pride and did it—why? He had no idea. Maybe if he treated Altaїr kindly, he'd tell him where he'd found the Apple? Yeah, that had to be it.

"So. Are we going somewhere?" Altaїr asked, standing from the bed and looking himself over in the mirror. The panda shirt was extremely tight, and it defined his muscles well, but it was very...feminine. He didn't like it at all.

"Nope. I just don't like having a half-naked man running around my apartment," Alex said as he retrieved another beer.

"Am I allowed to go out on my own?" Apparently the assassin still thought he was a prisoner. Alex could use that to his advantage when it came to keeping him under control.

"No. You are to stay here. And besides, if you went walking around in that panda shirt, you'd end up in an alley faster than a homeless person," Alex said. "Just watch TV for a while. I have a headache. I want to sleep."

A flash of something like defiance crossed Altaїr's eyes, and he glanced at the door.

"Don't even think it," Alex said before taking a long drink of beer. The upside to being composed of biomass was that it was next to impossible for him to get drunk, so he could enjoy as many beers as he wanted. "If you wander off, you're going to encounter the reason Manhattan is a quarantined zone."

"Quarantine?" Altaїr inquired.

"Sectioned off. We aren't allowed to leave the island."

"Why not?"

Alex gestured to the door. "Wait until sundown, then walk seven blocks east, and you'll see why."

Altaїr glanced at the window, where afternoon light filtered in. "I would rather not," he said cautiously.

"Good choice." Alex stood and walked to the single bedroom door. "Oh, and if anyone knocks at the door, don't answer it," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Altaїr asked.

"The infected are smart," Alex said ominously. "Just leave the door shut. If you get tired, sleep on the couch. The big button on the TV turns it on. Use the two buttons on the remote with arrows on them to change the channel." And with that, he closed his bedroom door, disappearing.

Altaїr turned to look at the television with a suspicious nature, and retrieved the small black rectangle Alex had used to make the magic box work. He walked over to the box and pressed the big button, jumping slightly when it lit up. He sat down on the loveseat where Alex had been before and watched the news for a while, trying to understand everything that was going on. After a few hours, he gave up and changed the channel by pressing a button on the remote.

"Tom...and Jerry," Altaїr said slowly, crossing his legs. "Who are these people?" Within fifteen minutes, Altaїr was on the edge of his seat, his eyes wide as he all but screamed Jerry's name. "Run Jerry! Do not let the cat take you alive! Fight him! Use the...no! Don't go into the wall, that's a terrible hiding place!"

Alex's door opened sharply, and the male stalked out into the living room, snatched the remote from Altaїr and shut the television off. "No more TV for you," he growled.

"B-But Zeus! Tom was about to—"

"I don't care what the damn cat was about to do!" Alex snarled. "I am tired, I want to sleep, and you acting like a children's show is a football game is keeping me up! Just...go to sleep, damn it." He stalked back to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Altaїr sullenly glanced at the television. He had really wanted to find out what happened to Jerry... Nevertheless, he stood, moved to the couch, and laid down, having to scrunch his tall frame to fit. He found sleep hard to come by, and when he finally did manage to drift into sleep, it was uneasy, and filled with nightmares. He dreamt of the Apple, and of the visions it gave him.

_"_ _Alta__ї__r," Maria whispered into his ear. "Why did you leave me?"_

_Alta__ї__r pulled back and looked into his wife's eyes, sorrow making his heart ache. "I'm so sorry, Maria," he whispered in return. "I tried to come back, but...Zeus has the Apple. I cannot return without it. I miss you so..."_

_"I need you," Maria breathed. "The Templars are winning the war without you. I've joined the fight...And...I'm with child, Alta__ї__r."_

_The assassin's heart staggered in his chest, and his eyes widened. He pulled Maria into his arms and lifted her. "This is great news!" he said, spinning around with her in his arms. _

_She wrapped her arms around his neck, and started to say something, but it was cut off by a choking gasp. "_ _Alta__ї__r," she coughed, "come back to me...my love."_

_Alta__ї__r staggered under her unexpected fall, and he lowered her to the ground. A sword struck through her body was painted with her blood, which pooled around her._

_"_No!_" Altair wailed. He tore off his tunic and gathered it around the blade, though he knew it was hopeless to save her. "Maria, don't die! I'll come home. Maria, please don't leave me!" _

_She looked up at him and smiled slightly, sadly. "I forgive you," she whispered, and the life leaked away from her eyes._

_"_MARIA!_" Alta__ї__r shouted._

The assassin surged up off the couch and tried to catch himself, but the coffee table tripped him, and he fell onto his side on the floor. Tears streaked his face, and he curled on his side, his arms tight across his chest as if he were still holding his wife. He didn't notice Alex until the man was standing over him, one arm a dark mass of...something. From the moonlight shining in through the blinds over the window, Altaїr could see the gleam of what might have been claws, and a red haze surrounded the arm.

"What happened?" Alex questioned. He was still in his jacket and pants, his hood still in place. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. Perhaps he hadn't...

"Nothing," Altaїr said, wiping at his face with his hands as he sat up. "Nothing happened...It was only a dream."

The gleam of the claws and the red haze disappeared, and the hand that Alex held out to him looked like a normal human hand. "One helluva dream," the male said.

Altaїr stared at the hand and lifted a brow.

"You gonna sit there all night? I'm trying something different," Alex said.

Taking the hand, Altaїr let Alex help him to his feet. "And what is this 'different' thing you are trying?"

Alex was silent for several heartbeats, and he turned away, walking to the kitchen. "Being nice," he said. He opened the fridge, which produced an ungodly light that hurt Altaїr's eyes, and he looked away. "Drink," Alex ordered, tossing the assassin a beer.

Altaїr caught the bottle and frowned at it, opening it as he had seen Alex do before. "Is your solution for everything beer?" he asked.

"It's the drink of the gods," Alex said with a shrug, taking a beer for himself and popping the top off.

Shrugging as well, Altaїr sipped his beer, looked at the bottle, and then chugged down half of it, not caring about the taste any longer.

"There ya go. See? You'll get the idea," Alex said. This earned him a glare from Altaїr.

"You drown your problems in beer?" the assassin asked accusatorily.

"Sure," Alex said, finishing his beer off and setting the empty bottle on the kitchen counter next to the others. "It used to make it easier to deal with all the crap I had going on, but nowadays, it's just nice to remember what it was like to be able to get drunk off of beer. Now, I have to consume copious amounts of alcohol before I even feel buzzed." Memories of the night before came to mind. He'd spent the majority of the evening in that bar, trying to get drunk. It had been quite the task. "So. You want to tell me about the dream?"

Altaїr hesitated, and looked down at his beer, which was mostly empty by this point. His head felt a bit fuzzy, and the words were slow in coming. "I...don't know, actually. I want to talk about it, but at the same time, I don't. It is very confusing."

Rolling his eyes, Alex crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, since it doesn't look like we're getting to sleep anytime soon, I guess we might as well have a girl moment. Come on, spill."

Raising a brow at the other, Altaїr surrendered and told Alex of the dream. He hesitated to describe the scene where Maria died, but managed it.

"Looks like you're feeling guilty about something you couldn't prevent," Alex said.

"No, you think?" Altaїr snapped. He drank the rest of his beer and sat on the back of the couch, running his fingers through his short, light brown hair.

"Hey, don't you get snippy with me. I'm the only one who gets to be snippy in this household," Alex said with a frown.

"You're an ass," Altaїr growled.

"And you're drunk. Give me the bottle." He walked forward and held his hand out, but Altaїr didn't surrender the bottle. " Altaїr, give it to me," he repeated.

Altaїr looked at the bottle for a long moment, and gripped it tightly. "I have to get back to Maria," he said in a tight voice. In a fit of anger, and desperation, he stood suddenly, swung the bottle at Alex's head and swept his leg out from under him with a foot. The bottle broke over the other's hooded head, and he lay sprawled for a moment.

Taking this opportunity, Altaїr ran to the bedroom, closed the door, and took the chair from the corner of the room, jamming it under the doorknob. He didn't think that would actually slow Alex, but he had to try something.

Staggering across the room in the darkness, Altaїr riffled through the drawers in the bedside table, finding nothing. He heard a groan from the living room and leapt across the bed to the far side of the room where the dresser stood. He ripped open drawer after drawer, tossing clothes this way in that. Finally, he found what he searched for: the Apple. Picking it up, he felt dismayed when the familiar whispered voices did not come to him, did not fill his mind with the brilliant images they always had before when he took it up.

"No," he whispered, turning the orb in his hands. "You must send me home! I cannot stay here! My people need me! Maria needs me!"

The door didn't just open. The black, gleaming claws Alex had seen before pierced the wood and tore it off its hinges. Loudly, the chair clattered to the floor, and Alex tossed the door aside. "You really shouldn't have done that," he said, his eyes glowing a sickly gray color.

Altaїr's eyes widened, and he ran to the window, trying to climb out it, but he didn't realize there was glass in it. In the twelfth century, there hadn't been glass to put in windows, so he was unfamiliar with the substance that halted his progress.

Something that looked like a whip wrapped around his ankle and pulled him to the floor, dragging him toward the frightening man. "Release me!" he shouted. He held the Apple up, expecting it to save him, but it did nothing yet again. "Zeus, _please_!"

The furious man paused, his eyes narrowing just a bit. "Why should I?" he hissed.

Altaїr stared up at the man through golden eyes that held apprehension, but also defiance. "Because I know no one is this heartless. I want to return home to see my wife...I'm not sure if my dream was just that, or if it was prophetic. If it was, that means that Maria is with child...my child. If you were in my situation, wouldn't you want to return home?"

Alex remained still for a long time, watching Altaїr through eyes that betrayed no emotion other than anger. Then, the writhing black mass that resembled a whip retracted from Altaїr's leg, and left him laying on the floor. The arm returned to normal, and Alex stepped aside. "Get out," he growled. "I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

Gratefully, Altaїr stood and tried to leave, but Alex's hand gripped his shoulder, and gripped it tight enough to draw a small sound of pain from the battle-hardened assassin. "Give me the Apple," Alex said, his voice as deadpan as his eyes.

Fearing further action, Altaїr surrendered the Apple. It wasn't working anyway. At that point, it was just a metal orb with no significance. It broke his heart.

* * *

"I swear to God, Altaїr, if you keep me awake one more night, I'm going to drug you so you'll sleep the entire night," Alex growled. Three days had passed, and Alex hadn't slept a wink during them. Altaїr had woken him screaming from his nightmares every night, and even when the assassin managed to go back to sleep, he'd been plagued by a restless mind.

"My apologies," Altaїr said blandly, glaring at the other male, "I'll be sure to yell at my subconscious to stop making me dream that my wife is being killed in a host of horrific ways. I'm sure it'll straighten right up."

Alex returned the glare, the dark circles under his eyes making the glare seem even more penetrating. He continued eating his dinner, muttering between bites about how he should have just left the assassin in that alleyway. It would have saved him a world of trouble.

Thunder roared high up in the sky, and it just served to worsen Alex's mood. He pushed his food away in disgust and stood from the breakfast nook. "I'm going to bed," he growled. "If you wake me up again, I'm going to tie you down and stuff a sock in your mouth."

The assassin sat curled around another of the beers he'd become reliant on to even fall asleep. He finished it off and rested his forehead on his arm, closing his eyes. Within moments, he had slipped into a light sleep in which he didn't dream. He was restful for a few hours until he stirred, lifting his head and looking around. He shivered. Where was he? Had he fallen asleep at his desk again? He'd done it often enough...Maria wouldn't be pleased.

Slowly, he stood from the breakfast nook, which his groggy mind took to be his desk, and walked toward the bedroom. _I don't remember our room being so close to my study_, he thought. _I've been staying up too late too long._ He felt his way in the dark toward the bed and pulled back the thick woolen blanket, which felt soft to his tired touch. Slowly, he climbed into the bed and reached out, feeling for Maria. He found her side and pulled her close, nuzzling his face into her hair. With her in his arms, he fell back asleep, happy to be beside her.

* * *

Alex surfaced from a deep sleep just enough to be aware of the hand that pulled at him. He didn't realize that the hand didn't belong to his sister, who he had been dreaming about, and he allowed her to snuggle up behind him as she often did. When he felt her against his back, he let out a sigh, and slipped into sleep once again, comforted by the fact that his sister was safe.

Morning came all too soon for Alex, and he felt as if he'd slept for an hour, or two at the most, but the amount of sleep he had gotten mattered little when he became aware of the person in his bed. An arm was draped over his side, and that same someone's breath tickled the hairs at the nape of his neck, which was exposed due to him having removed his jacket and laid down his hood. His arm transformed into the wicked claws he had often used to strike down his enemy, and he sat up quickly, turning in the same motion. This woke the man beside him, who turned out to be Altaїr.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in my bed?" Alex snarled, his eyes blazing.

Altaїr leapt out of the bed, his eyes wide and bleary. He hadn't recognized anything but the hostility Alex displayed, so he didn't realize what the problem was. However, he slowly became aware of the situation, and his cheeks darkened. "I don't know," he admitted. "I-I must have been sleep walking..."

"Into my _bed_?" Alex all but roared, standing on the bed, his clawed, writhing arm raised. "Get out of here! Now!"

Normally, Altaїr would have refused to leave and argued with Alex, but his recent bout of drinking had left him with a headache, nauseas, and frightened due to his sudden wake up call. He did what any sensible person would do, and hurried out of the room. The door hadn't been fixed yet, so there was no mellow-dramatic slamming of a door to chase him into the living room. Instead, he hurried to the breakfast nook and sat down, breathing hard.

Now, the event that had just transpired was not what bothered the assassin. He could have dealt with waking up in another man's bed, because it had happened a few times before when he'd had to stay at a Bureau and share the large pillows that made up the bed area with other assassins. That he could have dealt with. What bothered him, was the fact that waking up in this man's bed hadn't bothered him. The fact that waking up beside Alex hadn't stricken him as unacceptable and immoral made him question himself, and that small seed of doubt, he knew, could blossom into so much more...


	4. Chapter 4: Surprising Confrontation

"Next time you try to cuddle with me, I'm going to remove your testicles through your throat," Alex said, sipping the steaming drink which Altaїr had been informed was coffee.

Flinching, the assassin looked down at the table top, cradling a cup of coffee of his own. "Understood," he said. He might have said something in response to the other's hostility, but he was still exhausted, and still embarrassed from the night before. He had thought Alex was Maria...how could he have made such a stupid mistake?

Alex turned away from the assassin at his table and drained his cup, ignoring the scalding liquid that burned his mouth and throat. "I'm going out," he said, setting his mug loudly on the counter.

"Where?" Altaїr asked, standing as the other headed for the door.

"I don't know, and I don't care. Just...out," Alex tossed over his shoulder. The door slammed shut, leaving Altaїr in a silence that buzzed with unspoken words.

"I should tell him I'm sorry," Altaїr thought aloud. "Despite his unfriendliness, he's shown me hospitality...and I..." He sighed and raked his fingers through his short hair. He looked down at his left hand, where the stump of his missing finger lay. He'd faced tougher challenges than a simple misunderstanding like what happened with Alex, but...he couldn't understand why he felt so awful about this.

Clenching his hand into a fist, the assassin stood and walked to the refrigerator, opening it. Surprisingly, there were still two hot dogs there, and a few beers. "I'll make him dinner," he said finally. "That should appease him."

Altaїr had lead a rather busy life when he was in the Holy Lands. He'd always had something to keep his mind busy, and even when he had nothing to do, he always had someone to talk to. If all else failed, he could turn to the Apple. But now...now he had nothing to do, no one to talk to, and not even the Apple to ease his loneliness. For the first time in his life, the Master assassin was _bored_. He tried watching television, but not even the whimsical Tom and Jerry duo could catch his interest. His mind kept dragging him back to the night before, when he had felt Alex's warm body against his. Despite having thought that body belonged to his wife, it had felt...nice.

He felt lecherous thinking like that. Not only was it wrong to think that way, but he was married. Then a thought occured to him. Technically, he was married to a woman who had been dead for centuries...It made his heart ache just thinking about it. However, if he returned to his own time, then she would be waiting for him with open arms.

This was all so confusing...when the door opened, Altaїr sat up abruptly from where he had been lying on the couch, excitement plain on his face. "You're home!" he said. "Thank God. Talk to me. Say anything. Just...talk."

Alex raised a brow at the assassin. He had gone to one of the uninfected zones and sat in a park for a few hours, watching the busy bodies that still tried to make a living in this god-forsaken town. Not many could do so successfully. He had expected to come home to a brooding Altaїr as he always did, but to find the assassin actually glad to have him home was something quite different. It was almost frightening.

Leery of this new attitude, Alex said, "Who are you and what have you done with Twinkle Toes?"

Altaїr gave Alex a bland stare. "I'm bored. I can't entertain myself for some reason. Just...talk to me. Or give me something to do."

Alex looked the assassin over and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think it's about time I show you the wonders of being drunk. Everything is entertaining then."

"I have been drunk before, Zeus. I am not a youth," Altaїr sniffed.

"Ah, but you're used to wine, and beer. You've never had hard liquor. Come with me." He started toward the door, but stopped. "I am not taking you anywhere in that shirt. Just...Here." He walked to a small closet set off to the side and riffled through its contents. When he found something suitable, a gray hooded sweatshirt, he tossed it to Altaїr. "Wear that."

Altair pulled the sweatshirt over his head and pulled the hood up, smirking. "Just like at home," he said.

Alex rolled his eyes and opened the door. He didn't bother locking it, because no one else lived in this section of town. He lived on the very outskirts of one of the infection-free districts, where some infected still resided. He had to fend off the occasional bug, but that wasn't much of a problem.

The two men soon reached one of many bars in the non-infected district, and Alex brought the assassin straight up to the bar.

"Good afternoon," the bartender said. He was a different man from the one who had served Alex before, more fit and younger. "What can I get you boys?"

"Two whiskeys. And we don't want to be able to stand up straight when we leave," Alex said.

The bartender smirked and set two glasses on the countertop. "It's your livers," he said, pouring several fingers-worth of the amber liquid into the glasses.

"Bottoms up," Alex said, downing his expertly.

Altaїr was more cautious, and he gave the whiskey a surreptitious sip. "It is disgusting," he said with a grimace.

"Just drink it. You'll get used to the taste," Alex said, already working on his second glass.

Eyeing the amber liquid for a moment more, Altaїr shrugged and took a large swallow. He'd hardly gotten it down before he covered his mouth and coughed, fighting not to gag. Alex snickered at him, and he felt a competitive determination blossom in his stomach. He wouldn't be outdone in this.

Steeling himself against what he knew would be a very unpleasant experience, Altaїr suffered through the rest of the whiskey. The drink burned all the way down tto his stomach, and left him feeling a bit tingly.

"Another," he coughed, his eyes smarting at the taste. He glanced at Alex as the bartender refilled his glass. He looked fine! As if the drink were water! This only made him ever more determined.

He had drunk another two glasses of the whiskey before he started to feel the adverse affects, and he knew he should stop, but Alex was still drinking, even on his fourth glass.

"Hoow do you...do thisss?" Altaїr slurred, trying to take another drink. His hand seemed to have forgotten how to bring the glass to his mouth...

"Practice," Alex said, and the single word showed just a smidge of slurring.

"I think you two have had enough," the bartender said, taking Altaїr's glass away. This made the assassin frown, and he glared at the bartender.

"I wasn't done with that," he muttered mutinously, though he didn't try to retrieve the glass.

"Give me another," Alex said, finishing off his fifth glass.

"You sure?" the bartender asked, raising a brow.

"Absolutely." And with that, Alex downed his sixth, and final glass of whiskey. "Alright, Twinkle Toess," he slurred. "Now that we're pr...properly drunk, we get to have some fun and tr-try to get home." It felt odd being this smashed, but he knew that it wouldn't last long. The biomass would burn off the alcohol within the hour.

"Okay," Altaїr sighed, standing from his barstool. He staggered, stumbled, and almost fell, but caught himself at the last minute on one of the tables. "Let's go home..."

And to home they did go. They stumbled, staggered, and tripped their way back to Alex's apartment, and when they arrived, Altaїr was giggling like a fool, one arm draped over Alex's shoulders.

"I don't care what time you came from, Twinkle Toes, you're pretty fun," Alex said, dumping the assassin onto the couch. "Now...sleep. I guess. There's food in the fridge if you get hungry, but the beer is off limits."

Altaїr's giggling had subsided, and he lay on the couch with one arm flung carelessly over his head, and he smirked at Alex. "Has anyone told you that you are actually quite nice to look at?"

Alex frowned, and looked down at the other male, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And has anyone told you you're drunk?"

"Yes," Altaїr said, heaving himself into a sitting position. He blinked as the room spun, remaining still until it stopped. Then, he looked up at Alex. "I've been thinking, Zeus...about last night."

Alex's eyes hardened, and he turned, starting to walk toward his room. Even drunk, he didn't want to talk about this. Unfortunately, due to him having ripped the door off its hinges, he couldn't close the door and lock Altaїr out. Therefore, the drunk assassin followed him into his bedroom.

"Hear me out, Zeus...I was tired, and...and I thought you were my wife."

"That's comforting," Alex said, flopping onto his bed. He closed his eyes, and frowned when he didn't hear anything for a few moments. He opened one eyes and saw Altaїr standing beside his bed, his head leaned back slightly and his mouth partially open. "Hey!"

Altaїr jerked and looked around in confusion. "What?" he asked.

"You fell asleep standing up?" Alex asked, sitting up. "I can't even do that, and I'm tons more awesome than you."

"Well, you aren't a Master assassin," Altaїr said proudly, jabbing a thumb into his own chest. He closed his eyes and swayed for a moment. "I don't think I'm going to make it to the couch," he mumbled, slumping onto the bed.

"Oh, no. I had enough of you sleeping in my bed the first time—"

Altaїr turned to face Alex with possibly the best attempt at "puppy-dog eyes" he had seen in his life. "Please?" the assassin said. "If I get up, I'm going to fall down, and I'd rather sleep on the bed than on the floor."

Alex narrowed his eyes and kicked his shoes off before using one socked foot to push Altaїr as close to the edge of the bed as he could without pushing him off completely. "You stay _there_. If I wake up with you curled up on me again, it'll be the last thing you do."

The assassin smiled and curled up on the bed, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Zeus," he sighed, falling into a very deep, very drunk slumber.

Rolling his eyes, Alex turned away from Altaїr and pulled his blanket up to his shoulders, falling promptly asleep to the sound of soft snoring. It reminded him of falling asleep with his sister in the room...it was..nice.

"This is the fifth time, Altaїr. Get off of me," Alex sighed as he became conscious. Five days had passed since their first drinking binge, and Altaїr had insisted on sleeping in his bed since. Of course, Alex had protested, but every time he woke up, the assassin was either in his bed, or curled on the floor at the foot of his bed. So, finally, he had surrendered and just allowed the other man in his bed—for the most part. He was supposed to stay on his side of the mattress, but more often than not, Alex woke to find him sprawled over the bed, or inches away from him.

"But you're warm," Altaїr protested.

"Regardless, I told you once before to stop cuddling. I don't like it. I have never liked it, and I never will like it. So get off before I get angry."

Sullenly, Altaїr released the other male, sitting up in the bed. He turned away and crossed his legs, hanging his head. He was silent for a long time, and Alex thought he might have fallen asleep again. He did often sleep in a host of odd positions...

"Hey, what's with you?" Alex asked, tossing the blanket back and sitting up. "You've been awful moody lately." He turned to face his live-in assassin and frowned when he didn't immediately answer. "Earth to Twinkle-Toes."

Altaїr raised his head, but didn't turn to look at Alex. "I miss her," he said quietly.

"Who? Your wife? She's long dead by now. She doesn't notice you're gone. Hell, she probably spent her whole life wondering where you went, but that's all relative. Whenever we figure out how to send you back, all that will change. It'll be like you never left."

Altaїr stood sharply, shot a glare that could have withered a King and stalked out of the room. Alex stared out the open bedroom door—which had been fixed by then—and flinched ever so slightly when he heard a door slam. It was most likely the bathroom door. Altaїr never left the apartment. Not since he'd opened the door to an infected civilian and had his first dose of what it was like to live in modern day Manhattan.

Sighing, Alex picked himself up off the bed and started toward the bathroom. On a normal day, he wouldn't have given a crap about the assassin's pissy fit, but something about living with Altaїr had made him soft...made him _feel_. It was a foreign concept, and not one he particularly enjoyed.

He knocked on the bathroom door once, sharply. "You gonna tell me what I did wrong this time, or do I have to guess until I get it right?" he said.

Silence answered him.

"Come on, Altaїr. I haven't had my coffee. You know I can't deal with you before I've had my coffee."

The reply he received was in a foreign language, one that sounded middle-eastern, and one Alex most definitely did not speak. However, he didn't need to understand the language to understand the insult.

"Alright then," Alex sighed. He walked to the small kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was so glad he'd gone with the coffee maker that had a self-timer on it. He woke to freshly brewed coffee every morning—small blessings. He didn't bother with sweeteners this time, just drank the dark liquid black. It was delicious nonetheless.

Only after his third cup of coffee did Altaїr open the bathroom door and emerge. He had showered, and wore a towel around his waist instead of the dark grey sweatpants and ACDC shirt he'd used for pajamas. "What you said about Maria...I thought you were just being insensitive," he said softly. "But then I realized it was true..."

"Hey, man, I didn't mean to be an insensitive prick. It's just who I am," Alex said with a shrug. "I'll try to keep it in check, but it slips through the cracks sometimes."

Altaїr smiled bitterly. "Sometimes insensitivity is necessary." He took a deep breath. "Which is why I want to get drunk again. It was fun the first time, but I think I really do need it this time."

Alex raised a brow. "Well then. You can go on your own this time. I don't have enough money for two tonight. I'll leave the door unlocked until sundown. Be back before then." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a fifty, handing it to Altaїr. "Don't spend it all in one place," he said with a smirk.

Nodding briskly, the assassin left.

"I'm gonna kill him," Alex said with conviction. "When he gets back, I'm going to murder him. Then, a gut-wrenching thought occurred to him. What if Altaїr didn't come back? The sun had set hours ago, and Alex had spent the majority of that time staring out the window, watching for his live-in assassin.

Alex stood and yanked the front door open, hurrying outside. He walked at a brisk pace toward the bar, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. _I shouldn't have let him go out on his own_, he thought. _He doesn't know his way around Manhattan...he's from the Holy Lands for Christ's sake! Stupid!_ He snarled and lengthened his stride. The bar came into view, and Alex nearly ripped the front door off its hinges. The pudgy bartender looked up in surprise and reached under the counter.

"Don't you touch that gun," Alex snapped. The bullets couldn't kill him, but they hurt like hell and were quite the inconvenience. "Where did he go? What direction?"

"I-I don't know what you mean, but you need to leave, or I'll call the cops."

"The police are busy dealing with the infected," Alex spat. "Tell me where he went. The man who came in here. He would have had a funny accent, and was wearing a dark grey hoody. Where did he go when he left the bar?"

The bartender gave Alex an assessing look, as if deciding if it were worth telling him the truth. His eyes widened in fear when Alex's right arm became a writhing black whip, which trailed on the wooden floor of the bar. "Tell me," he hissed.

"H-He went right! F-Farther into down! Christ, just don't hurt me!" he squawked.

Alex sneered at the man, his arm returning to normal. "You disgust me." He hurried back out of the bar, running full out toward the busy section of town.

"Get back," one of the guards at the front gate that led into the quarantine snapped. "Halt!"

Without slowing, Alex launched himself into the air, flipped, and landed without losing a bit of speed on the other side.

"We have a security breech!" he heard the same guard shout into a static-filled little walkie-talkie. Alex rolled his eyes and continued running, dodging people who wandered about, perusing the various stands. It didn't take him long to find Altaїr. The assassin was trying to get the hot dog man to give him some of his wares.

"C'mon! I have currency, why won't you give me a hot dog?" Altaїr demanded, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol he had consumed as well as frustration.

"I don' sell to no boozies. Git away b'fore I call the guard," the husky man growled, shoving Altaїr back.

The assassin flicked his wrist, and then stared down at his hand in confusion. That was when Alex intervened. "Give him the damned hot dog," he growled. He'd never seen anyone move faster to do something he'd ordered. In record time, a tin-foil wrapped hot dog sat on the counter of the stand. "Thank you for your business," Alex said cynically before he took Altaїr by his arm and led him back to the gate.

"I got a hot dog," Altaїr said, showing Alex the tin-foil bundle.

"I can see that," Alex said, his eyes flicking back and forth. Alarms started blaring, and soldiers ran every which way, trying to find the man who had broken through the gate. "I'm gonna have to do something you're probably not going to like," he said before he picked Altaїr up bridal-style and started running.

Altaїr let out a surprised squawk and clutched his hot-dog, more concerned about what would happen to it than to himself. He must have been pretty proud of himself to have procured such a prize.

With a snarl of effort, Alex jumped the fence again with Altaїr in his arms, landing on the other side less gracefully than he had the first time due to being overbalanced. He recovered from the bad landing and ran steadily back to his apartment. The alarms continued blaring long after he had gone.

"What the hell possessed you to go into town?" Alex snarled after he had set Altaїr down on the couch in the living room and locked the three deadbolts on his front door.

Altaїr held up his hot dog proudly. "I wanted to buy one of these," he stated.

"You couldn't have waited until you got home? There are three in the refrigerator!" Alex all but shouted.

The assassin looked hurt, and he wilted, his eyebrows tilting slightly in a sad frown. "But...I got it for you," he said.

That gave Alex pause. He looked from the hot dog Altaїr held out to the boy himself. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, reaching out to take the hot dog. "Next time you want to do something nice for me, tell me so I can go with you, alright?"

Altaїr nodded once, his flushed cheeks making him look almost childish. The assassin slumped back on the couch and smirked. "I thought you were a pretty lousy guy at first, Zeus, but...you've grown on me. I like you now."

Alex rolled his eyes. "You're drunk," he said, walking to the fridge to put the hot dog away. He turned back and nearly jumped out of his skin. Altaїr stood less than two feet away from him.

"I like you a lot," he said, his eyes slightly wider than they should have. His pupils were seriously dilated by the alcohol as well as the dim lighting in the room.

"Back off, Twinkle Toes. Remember that thing we talked about called personal space? You're invading mine right now."

Altaїr leaned forward a few inches, causing Alex to lean back against the closed fridge to avoid bonking heads. "My people laid siege to countries three times our size," Altaїr slurred. "Your bubble is five feet wide. I think I am perfectly capable of invading it."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "That's not the point, Altaїr. Back off. That's your second warning. You only get one more before I deck you—!" His eyes widened and he made a rather undignified sound when Altaїr leaned forward suddenly and kissed him very roughly. It felt like his mouth had been attacked. "Okay, first, ow," Alex said, pushing the assassin back a good three feet. "And second, what the _fuck_ was _that_?"

The assassin watched him warily for a moment, but that wariness was almost immediately swamped by a drunken smirk. "I kissed you!" he jeered. "I kissed the great Zeus, whose magic bubble is not so impervious!"

Alex's cheeks darkened, and he balled his hands into fists. "I'm going to kick your ass!" he snarled.

"You have to catch me first!" Altaїr said, taking off in an unsteady run toward the bedroom. He had no hopes of outrunning Alex, but that wasn't what he wanted. Instead, he slowed down purposefully so that when Alex tackled him, they landed on the bed. Altaїr clung to Alex much like a monkey would cling to a swaying branch, and this quickly proved to be a good tactic.

"Let go, you freak!" Alex growled, pushing at Altaїr's head and shoulders, trying to pry him off.

"Not until you give me a kiss!" Altaїr said. "I gave you one. In my country, it's polite to return the favor!"

Alex continued his efforts for another few minutes, but finally gave up. He could have easily removed the assassin if he really wanted to; all he had to do was tap the extra strength his biomass make-up lent him. However, he didn't really want to hurt Altaїr. Therefore, there was only one option.

"Well, you have to let go at least a little so I can kiss you," he sighed.

Altaїr loosened his grip, and looked up, his lips puckered to receive his kiss. However, in that instance, Alex shoved the assassin's shoulders, causing him to fall off the bed. "Ha! I win!" Alex shouted triumphantly. He had a moment to feel proud of himself, but when he looked over the edge of the bed, he found the full grown assassin, leader of an order of elite, able-bodied assassins _crying_. The shunned man sniffled and wiped at his eyes with the arms of his borrowed sweater. "Ah jeez," Alex muttered, hanging his head for a moment. "Come on, don't do that, Altaїr. Don't cry. You're a grown man."

"I'm also very, _very_ drunk," Altaїr snuffled. "I'm also centuries in the future when everyone I know and loved is dead. So I think I have a right to cry." He pulled his hood back and looked away, his blush having spread due to his crying. "And you'd rather push me off the bed than give me a kiss..."

The guilt...the guilt was what drove him to do this. It had to be. Guilt was a very strong emotion, and one that Alex almost never felt. He swore under his breath and slipped off his bed, walking around to the other side and picking Altaїr up, setting him on the bed. In this process, the assassin managed to kiss him once again, which sent Alex staggering back a step in surprise.

"That's two kisses I've given you," Altaїr said, pointing at Alex accusingly. "So that's two you have to return."

"Keep it up," Alex said as his brow twitched in irritation, "and I'll just rip your lips off. Then you can't keep stealing kisses."

Altaїr grimaced at him, which looked odd with the blush still in place. "Liar," he said. "You always threaten to do such horrible things to me, but you never do."

"Would you like me to follow through with one of the threats?" Alex said menacingly. His tone seemed to have no affect on the drunk assassin.

"Obviously not," Altaїr said. "Just...please. I won't have the courage or insanity to ask for a kiss when I'm sober, and Zeus, I really do like you...I have for some time."

"You've been here for less than two weeks," Alex said, frowning uncomfortably.

Altaїr looked down at his lap. "Please?"

"No."

The assassin raised his eyes to look at Alex, misery in their depths. "Am I really such a horrible person that you won't kiss me?"

"It's not that you're a horrible person," Alex said, lowering his hood in frustration, "it's that...well, you're a guy. I'm not gay."

Altaїr raised a brow and cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. It reminded Alex very much of a dog, trying to listen to its owners command. It was unsettling. "What is 'gay?'" he asked.

"You know...homosexual. Queer. I-I don't like guys, alright? I like girls," Alex said, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning as he became flustered.

"I enjoy women as well," Altaїr pointed out, looking up at Alex. "But...seeing as there is no woman present, and I'm more drunk than a King at a feast, I find myself in an awkward predicament."

"Meaning what?" Alex asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Meaning I want my kisses," Altaїr said impatiently. "If you just give me my kisses, I'll leave you alone!"

Alex sighed in exasperation and rubbed his eyes. Dealing with Altaїr on a normal day was like an emotional roller-coaster ride from hell. This was just...he wanted a wall to pop up spontaneously in front of the roller-coaster. It would be less painful. "Fine," he sighed, "fine. I'll kiss you."

Altaїr's eyes lit up, and he straightened up, pursing his lips once again.

Eying the assassin's face warily, Alex bent over and kissed Altaїr hesitantly, the barest touch of skin. One down. He pulled back, and his heart started up a maddened rhythm, as if it were trying to beat its way out of his chest. Closing his eyes, Alex pressed a real kiss to the others lips, and surprisingly, it was...pleasant.

* * *

**Author's Note: And so it begins. Sorry this one was so long, but I really found myself struggling with it. It's difficult to get such opposing personalities in bed with each other while still making it believable, and...ugh. Just ugh. Hope you enjoy! Drop me a comment if you think I should tweak anything about the two. I know Altaїr is a bit OOC near the end, but I figured we've never seen him drunk, so hell, maybe he'd act like that. OR he could be an angry drunk...we never know! I'd bet Ezio would be a silly drunk...  
**


	5. Chapter 5: A Chance Encounter

"See?" Altaїr said when the other pulled back. "Was that so bad?"

Alex stood straight again with a puzzled expression on his face. He didn't know what to think about the whole thing. It had been pleasant, and not entirely horrible, but...as he'd stated before, he liked women, not men. His morality warred with his heart as it rarely did, and the only reaction he could come up with was a shrug. This seemed not to please the assassin.

"It's because you're a bad kisser," Altaїr pointed out.

"Excuse me?" Alex said indignantly. "I'm pretty sure I've been with more women than you."

Altaїr opened his mouth to disprove him, but then hesitated. He was...right. He'd only ever been with Maria. In the Holy Lands, a man of his stature wasn't supposed to take a woman if he didn't intend to marry her. Having a small army of bastards strewn throughout the country wouldn't do at all. "You may be right, but...that doesn't matter," he said, feeling flustered now.

Alex chuckled softly and shook his head. "Get some sleep," he said, placing a hand on Altaїr's forehead and pushing him back, unbalancing him and forcing him to lie down—an indignant sound from the assassin followed. "I'll take the couch." He doubted he would sleep that night, and the last thing he wanted to have happen was Altair to snuggle up against him while he was still conscious. He might explode...

"Alex...wait," the assassin said in a small voice. Alex had just turned away, but when the other called for him, he turned back.

"What?" he asked, slightly surprised to find Altaїr still laying where he'd left him.

"Thank you..."

Alex blinked at Altaїr for a moment, unsure how to take the thanks. What could he possibly have been thanking him for? Holding him prisoner? Scaring him witless on more than one occasion? Screaming at him? Treating him like a child? None of those seemed likely reasons, and Alex couldn't figure out what he could have done to deserve the thanks, so he settled for something that he hoped would satisfy Altaїr. "Um...you're welcome." He turned and walked out into the living room, closing the door behind him. "That was...unexpected," he muttered to himself before he walked to the fridge and removed a beer.

Brooding didn't prove to take Alex's mind off of anything, so he decided it would be more constructive for him to go out. At least it would give him something to do, even if that something was just to run around. It had been a while since he'd scoped out the area completely, seen how far Blackwatch had spread their reign over the city.

So, Alex finished his beer off, scribbled down a note on a piece of paper that Altaїr might be coherent enough to look at, but also might not be sober enough to read, and then left the apartment. He locked the door behind him before taking off at a jog. Once he reached a respectable distance from his hide-out, Alex leapt from the ground and surged up the side of a building, running parallel to the structure's side. When he reached the roof, he grinned. "Still got it," he puffed. His blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. The haze that normally surrounded the city hadn't diminished, but due to the pitch-black night and lack of electricity to much of Manhattan itself, he could easily make out the pin-point lights of the buildings on the mainland of New York.

He'd tried a few times to leave Manhattan, but with little success. He couldn't very well swim across; he'd had a few brush-ups with the sea, and it appeared that the bio-mass that made up the majority of his body simply didn't like it. So, he'd been forced to stay put. Still, he liked to fantasize about swimming across the channel to the mainland where he could reunite with his little sister, Dana. Was she even still alive? He'd sent her over on a makeshift raft in the dead of night when he'd set off a few explosions in the heart of Blackwatch's territory so she wouldn't be spotted.

"I love you," he murmured to the wind, closing his eyes and picturing his little sister. Did she miss him as much as he missed her? Doubtful... "Alright, enough gushing," he sighed. "Time to get a move on." He'd just started to jog along the rooftop when the sky erupted into a brilliant, blinding white light.

"Freeze!" a mechanical-sounding man's voice snarled. Alex blinked a few times and shielded his eyes, just making out the sleek form of the helicopter above him. Its spot-light illuminated him for all of Manhattan to see. For it to have snuck up on him was an infuriating accomplishment. The combination of Alex having been distracted with memories of his sister as well as the howling wind so high up on the sky-scraper had left him vulnerable.

"Shit," Alex sighed. "And this was supposed to be a pleasant outing." Just another day in the life of Alex Mercer. "Alright, come get some!" he shouted, his right arm morphing into the large blade he often used in combat.

There was a gust of air, and then a _whooshing_ sound, and a net flew toward Alex. He sliced through it easily, sneering. "That the best you can do?" He heard the second chopper a half-second too late, and he turned around just as it fired its net at him. Alex swiped at the netting once again, but to his surprise, it didn't part. Instead, the heavy weights hanging from its outer edge dragged him to the rooftop, and he snarled. Each weight seemed to explode in a cloud of electric sparks, and they drove spikes deep into the concrete and tar beneath Alex, securing him.

Alex had just morphed his arms into the claws that could surely spring him from the net when his entire body seized. He cried out in pain as his body convulsed, and agony seared through his flesh.

"Thought you got away, didn't you Mercer?" said a deep voice. It was familiar...

When the agony flowed away and left Alex twitching, he looked up at the man who approached him. His body twitched, and he panted from exhaustion, but he managed a shaky grin. "That you Cross?" he croaked. "Las' time I saw you, you were high-tailin' it outta dodge."

The same voice chuckled darkly, and he moved to stand close to Alex, crouching down to balance on the balls of his feet. "Says the man caught in a trap made to catch petty criminals," he sighed. "Then again, we had to beef this one up quite a bit. Electricity...it's a wonderful thing, you know. I never thought to use it before. Until a power line broke and electrocuted a Hunter, we had no knowledge of the infection's vulnerability to it." Cross smirked, and plucked at one of the wires of the net, which had ceased their flow of voltage. "Stainless steel mesh infused with titanium threads," he said. "Expensive as hell to make, but an excellent conductor, and it can't be cut without some serious industrial tools." He patted Alex's chest, which drew a snarl from the trapped man. "Which you don't seem to have. Kind of hard to get it up when you've got twenty-four hundred volts of electricity running through you."

Alex opened his mouth to retort, but his jaws snapped together again around a scream of pain, his teeth grinding with almost enough force to shatter them. His body convulsed yet again as Cross stood, motioning for one of the choppers to bring its load. The large helicopter set down a box that looked to be made of metal. It was no larger than a toddler's playhouse, and had only one opening at the top where a thick chord attached to the box. Cross walked to it and opened it up. "Pick him up," Cross ordered the men that had zipped down nearly invisible lines from the other helicopter.

"He might still attack, sir," one protested.

Cross turned to face him and pressed a button on a small remote he held in his hand. "Does it look like he's in any condition to try anything, Berns?" he said, gesturing to the limp man on the floor.

The soldier seemed to consider this for a moment, and then they removed the net from atop Alex, struggling for a moment with getting the weights to release their hold on the roof. Once they'd gathered the net to the side, the two men picked Alex up together and heaved him into the metal box. It was a tight fit, and Alex had to scrunch himself up, but that didn't seem to matter to Cross.

"If you try anything," Cross said, opening a small latch that Alex hadn't seen before in the side of the box, "the pilot will send a current through the chord attached to this box, and it will electrocute you again. "I'd rather wait to start the torture until we get to base, but...my pilot's a bit trigger-happy. So just sit tight, and we'll be at base soon enough."

Alex groaned as the lid to the box swung shut, leaving him in darkness.

When Altaїr woke, his eyes were assaulted by the sun, which filtered through the blinds that covered the window just above the bed. He squinted his eyes and grimaced as his head pounded. Hangovers...right. The downside to being intoxicated. "Alex?" he called softly, reaching over to Alex's side of the bed. It was cold. "Alex, where are you?" he called a little louder, gazing at the closed bedroom door. He sighed and laid his head back for a moment before struggling into a sitting position.

Slowly, he made his way out of the bedroom and into the living room, glad for the blinds being drawn shut. "Alex," he called once more before his tired eyes settled upon the sheet of paper on the table.

_Altaїr,_ it read, _went for a run. Be back soon. There's food in the fridge, and stay out of my beer._

Altaїr couldn't help but chuckle softly at the warning, and he looked around. The apartment looked undisturbed from what he could remember from last night. His cheeks darkened considerably when flashes of what had happened the night before shot across his vision, and he closed his eyes, rubbing them. "Good God," he muttered. "What have I done?"

He would have to leave his worrying for later, because he had other, more basic needs he needed to take care of. After using the facilities, and once again scalding his hands as he tried to figure out the bathtub's faucet, he bathed and then dressed again. It seemed odd that Alex still had not returned. However, he didn't start to actually feel concerned about Alex until noon had come and gone. Surely the other would be hungry by now? All four hot dogs were still in the refrigerator, so he hadn't brought any with him, and he had said the night before that he didn't have enough money to pay for alcohol for both of them. So...where could he have gotten to?

Finally, when the sun started dipping beneath the buildings surrounding their apartment building, Altaїr had had enough. He slipped into his borrowed jacket and pulled his hood up over his head as he started out into Manhattan.

"God damn it, Cross," Alex snarled, his chest heaving. The man in question looked up from what he was doing.

"Deal with it," Cross said as he straightened, holding another vial filled with Alex's blood. "We'll need another bone marrow sample too. The samples we got were no good. Some temp sneezed near them without a mask on."

All that translated to more pain for Alex. He hadn't been subjected to any actual torture yet, but the samples they had collected were still pretty awful. They'd biopsied more organs than he knew he had, and had to take bone marrow from his hip bone twice so far. The biopsy Cross was about to perform would be the third.

"I could swear you only needed my DNA for this crap," he spat. "You have it in your hands. So why the fuck do you keep poking at me?" He would have just broken his restraints if it hadn't been made of the same material as the net that had caught him in the first place. Every time he moved too quickly, he received an electric shock less than that delivered by the net, but still enough to force him still. The straps held his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles to a silver autopsy table as well as a strap across his forehead, neck and waist. He was essentially pinned.

"Because," Cross said as he set aside the vial of blood and took up another biopsy syringe, "it's necessary, and even a little bit fun." The needle was seven inches long, and nearly thick around as a coffee straw. Again, it all translated to pain.

"Son of a bit—gah!" He cried out, but clamped his jaws together as the needle stabbed into the flesh of his bare hip. He'd been stripped before he was fully conscious—it was more convenient to have him already naked so they could perform their tests on him.

The needle remained still for a moment, and he said, "You'll feel another small pinch," before he pushed the hypodermic instrument against Alex's hip bone, cracking through to the marrow inside.

"Fuck!" Alex shouted, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Cross scolded, filling the large syringe with the bone marrow. "It's just a needle. You've eviscerated from the stories I hear from my men, but you just picked your guts up, put 'em back in, and healed right up. You're telling me that's anything compared to this?"

"Go...fuck yourself...Cross," he croaked. He whimpered when Cross pulled the needle out. By this time, his left hip was just a large, singular pain. He couldn't pinpoint the center of the pain anymore.

"That's not very nice," the older man tsked. "Anyway, that should be the last of the samples. I'll leave you alone now for a while."

Relief swamped Alex, and he imagined finally being able to sleep, but that dream was swiftly swept away.

"But your comments about what I could stick where hurt my feelings. So I don't think you deserve a break," Cross said thoughtfully. He strode toward the table in the corner of the sterile room and picked up another syringe. "This," he said, "is something the scientists have been cooking up. We have no idea what it does, but we've shot Hunters up with it, and they didn't do anything. So, we assume it won't destroy anything infected. So I think you're a good candidate to give it a test run."

Alex closed his eyes and bit his lip. What more could they put him through? He flinched when he felt the pull at his skin of the needle slipping into his flesh, and whatever Cross injected into him burned as it entered his veins. Hissing, he balled his hand into a fist as the heat of the liquid spread up, over his arm, shoulders, chest, and down his torso to his legs.

"Feel anything?" Cross asked curiously, though his hawkish expression remained...well, hawkish. There was no change in his face. None at all. It would have been eerie if Alex could have focused on anything but the pain.

"It fucking hurts, what do you think it feels like?" he spat, straining against his bonds. The electricity joined the serum, and Alex snarled in pain. When he could stand it no longer, he collapsed against the table, panting raggedly. "Go to hell," he panted.

"There's already a spot reserved for me, Mercer. Has been for a long time."

Alex glanced at Cross, and grimaced. "Smart ass," he muttered, flexing his hand. The pain started to ebb away, and when it faded completely, Alex finally relaxed against the table. However, he couldn't relax completely. There were parts of his body that concerned him greatly. "The hell did that stuff do to me?" he asked, straining to see down the line of his body.

"Interesting," Cross said, moving the towel that spared him from Alex's manhood. His body stood at attention, swollen and ready for use. "It seems that the serum affects the reproductive organs. No wonder it had no effect on the Hunters...they're spawned from the biomass." He shrugged and replaced the towel, having no interest in the serum now. "You can rest now."

"Bastard," Alex said with a sardonic sneer. "Seems like everyone's interested in sex of late."

Cross raised a brow. "Everyone?" he asked. "Meaning you've talked to other people? Last time I checked, you worked alone. I thought you saw the rest of us as food."

Alex closed his eyes and swallowed hard, though his mouth and throat were so dry from thirst that it was a useless gesture. "None of your business," he said. "Just get the hell out of here and let me suffer alone."

"Very well," Cross said with a shrug. "But I'm just going to tell you now...if you have a partner out there, he's going to die."

Tensing, Alex looked up at Cross. "Why is that?"

Cross shrugged and removed his gloves, tossing them into a trash can. "My commander is going to level the city if we can't find a way to contain the infection. Everyone on the island will die. And now that you're in our custody, you aren't going anywhere. So we'll take you with us when we leave."

That bit of information made Alex's situation that more impossible.

"Well crap," Alex muttered as the door to the room closed, leaving him in silence.


	6. Chapter 6: What is One to Do?

**Author's Note: Alright, so I'm sorry it's taken me so long to upload a new chapter, but I've been swamped with homework, projects, *coughMinecraftcough* and just basically life. I've finally gotten up the will to write again, and it's all because of you lovely people and your reviews! I've been receiving wonderful comments on this and my other stories, which have inspired me to continue them! Expect more updates soon (hopefully!) and stay beautiful!**

* * *

"Zeus!" Altaїr hissed, closing the door behind him.

The male in question tried to turn his head to look at Altaїr, but the strap across his forehead and on his neck made that impossible. "About time you showed up," he rasped. "Couldn't have figured it out maybe three hours ago?" The pain of the torture was nothing compared to the pain of whatever Cross had injected into him. Even his usual escape from physical pain wasn't a sanctuary. Whenever he closed his eyes and tried to fall into the nightmare-riddled dreams that plagued him at night, he felt dizzy and nauseas enough that had he not been strapped down to the table, he would have fallen off.

"Be glad I noticed at all," Altaїr said blandly. "Or that I decided it was worth the effort to come find you. Would you rather I left?"

"Oh yeah, I'm havin' a blast here. Come back in an hour; they're handing out goody bags soon."

Altaїr grimaced. "I do not understand," he said.

"Of course you don't," Alex sighed. "Just untie me. I might explain later."

The assassin shrugged off the last comment, not really caring to have it explained to him. "If you ever leave like that again," he said, his voice terse as he tugged at one of the straps, "I will tie you to your bed and remove your fingers with hedge trimmers."

"You'd like me tied down, wouldn't you?" Alex rasped.

Altaїr paused. "If I wanted you tied down, I would leave you as you are." His eyes trailed over the male's body finally, settling on the white towel that spared him from complete nudity. "It would appear something has piqued your interest," he said, lifting the towel slightly.

"Unless you plan on buying me dinner first, get your hands away from there."

The assassin looked back to Alex's face, grimacing slightly. "Was it me?" he asked.

"Fuckin' pervert," Alex sighed, closing his eyes.

"Call me what you will, I'm not the one with the erection." Altaїr gritted his teeth as he pulled at another of the metal straps, swearing under his breath. "It isn't breaking," he said, confused. "Perhaps if I cut it?"

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna work. They're made of titanium—" Before he'd finished speaking, Altaїr had begun sawing at the strap with his blade, determination in his eyes. " Altaїr, stop before you hurt yourself."

"When have you been concerned for my safety? Just be quiet and let me free you."

"They're electrified, you moron. You'll be electrocuted."

Shockingly, the blade Altaїr used bit into the metal strap, making the assassin grin. The grin vanished, however, when agony rippled up his arms and into his torso, making him convulse. He fell to the floor, gagging as his body spasmed and twitched.

"I told you," Alex said, rolling his eyes.

"Wh-what was that?" the assassin panted.

The voice that answered him didn't belong to the man on the table. "That was twenty-four hundred volts of electricity."

"Shit," Alex whispered.

"Do you want to introduce me to your friend, Alex? Or should I start?"

Altaїr picked himself up from the floor and grimaced at the man standing in the doorway across the room. "You were the man in the vehicle," he said. "The one that burned down that building."

Cross smirked. "Yeah. That was collateral damage. See, we were aiming for you, but you were a little faster than we anticipated. I'd take another shot, but we don't have any tanks in here."

"You are a worse shot than a novice," the assassin sneered.

"Instead of insulting my aim, let's get to know each other, shall we?" Cross sighed. "You can call me Cross. I'm the Captain of Blackwatch. Your name is?"

Altaїr looked to Alex, uncertain if he should answer. Once the other had given a slight nod of his head, the assassin looked to the captain. "I am Altaїr Ibn'La Ahad, Master Assassin of Masyaf. What business have you with this man?"

"A foreigner, eh?" Cross's eyes examined the man with interest now. "And a Middle-Eastern one at that. Tell me, are you part of a terrorist invasion? Something of the sort?" As a man of the military, of course he would be suspicious. It still pissed Alex off, though.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but answer my question," the assassin snapped. "What business have you with Zeus? And why did you call him Alex?"

"It's my actual name," Alex interjected, cutting Cross off. "I gave you the name the military gave me because I didn't trust you."

"I assumed as much. No one would name their child after a Greek god. They are ludicrous." He looked from Alex, back to Cross. "Answer my second question."

Cross had been watching the exchange between the two with interest, his keen eyes examining them as they spoke. Now, those eyes met Altaїr's, and the assassin noticed something about them. They reminded him of Al Mualim's eyes, prying and dangerous while at the same time, oddly trustworthy. As if given the right circumstances, Altaїr would consider this man an ally. These, however, were not even close to the right circumstances.

"Persistent," Cross said. "And edgy. I like that in a soldier. If you ever need a job, I'd be happy to take you."

A snarl came not from the assassin, but from the man strapped down on the table.

"You leave him out of this, Cross," he growled. "He has nothing to do with this."

"Come now, Alex, be civil," Cross tutted. "Share your toys; you've stolen a great many of mine. And let me tell you, trying to make our tanks Mercier-proof hasn't been easy."

"Right-royal pain in the ass," Alex said. "Just like I planned."

Cross stepped into the room, pressing a button on a control board which closed the door behind him, locking it with a solid _thunk_.

"Don't come any closer," Altaїr warned, brandishing the knife he'd used before in a trembling hand. His body was still in shock from the jolt he'd received earlier, and he found it hard to concentrate because of it.

"A feisty one too," Cross commented, though he came no farther. "Where did you find him, Mercer?"

"He found me," Alex answered. "Can't seem to get rid of 'im."

"If I remember correctly," Altaїr interjected, "you were the one who proclaimed me your prisoner."

"Never used the word prisoner," Alex corrected.

"Okay, fellas," Cross said. "We all know this can go one of two ways. Alex, your friend here can surrender, and we can all continue on our ways, or he dies, and this gets a helluva lot messier."

"You can try to kill me," Altaїr said, much to Alex's dismay. "Many have tried, but obviously, none have succeeded. I am extraordinarily difficult to kill."

"Really?" Cross asked. "We'll just have to see about that." He reached toward his belt, unclasping his holster.

"Cross, what are you doing?" Alex asked, straining against his restraints. He cried out through clenched teeth as his body was wracked with voltage yet again.

"Stop it!" Altaїr snapped. "Stop hurting him!"

The Captain aimed the matte black object he'd pulled from his belt at the assassin, but the man had no idea what it was. Cross might as well have pulled a fish from his pocket and pointed it at him. He didn't take it seriously until it exploded. The bullet flew toward him with imperceptible speed, hitting him in the thigh. He cried out in pain and fell to the floor again, gripping his leg, his knife discarded carelessly.

"What is that thing?" he snarled, his voice high-pitched due to the pain.

Cross raised an eyebrow. "How do you not know what a gun is?" he asked.

"Stop shooting holes in my assassin, you ass!" Alex snapped. The blood welling from Altaїr's wound made Alex's heart skip a beat. When was the last time he'd consumed someone? The Blacklight virus would soon demand to be fed—sooner than was practical if his reaction to Altaїr's blood was anything to go by.

The door opened with a definitive _thunk_, and another man walked into the room. "Cross, what's going on?"

Alex snarled, baring his teeth at the voice of the man who had ordered this torture.

"McMullen," Cross said, turning to face the scientist. "It seems our base isn't as secure as we would like to think; this rat was able to sneak in without any of our sensors or alarms going off. I was simply teaching him a lesson."

"By shooting him in a room filled with unstable substances?" McMullen hissed. "Get rid of him! Now!"

With a set jaw and irritation obvious on his face, Cross put his gun away and moved toward the assassin on the floor. "Any place you want him in particular?" he asked.

"Just out of here. Kill him if you want; I don't care."

Cross shook his head slightly as he bent to pick the assassin up. "If you hurt me, I'll put a finger in that bullet hole, and you'll know a whole new world of pain," he warned.

Altaїr glared at the Captain, but said nothing, trying to concentrate on breathing past the pain. He allowed the taller man to pick him up, using him for support with one arm slung awkwardly over his shoulders.

" Altaїr, get out of here!" Alex shouted. "You see an opportunity, you get out! Don't wait for me."

"Like I would," Altaїr snapped over his shoulder. "You don't want me around anyway." He winced when he put weight on his injured leg, and allowed Cross to lead him from the room. Despite what he'd said to the male, he felt a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with physical injuries. He'd come here to try to free Alex, and hadn't been able to do it...that was a blow not only to his ego, but also to his heart. Once again, he was unable to save a colleague from something he'd promised he would. Thoughts of the one-armed rafik in Jerusalem he'd left in his own time made his heart twist painfully, and Altaїr closed his eyes against the memories.

"Tell you what, buddy," Cross said as they ducked into a dark hallway, "you chose the wrong guy to fall in love with."

Altaїr jerked away from the taller male, a snarl of disgust on his lips. "I am _not_ in love with _him_, and he is not in love with me." He staggered on his injured leg, catching himself on the doorframe. "According to him, I am not worthy even to know his true name."

Cross watched the assassin, feigning interest. "And that hurts, doesn't it?" he pressed. "Knowing your feelings aren't returned?"

"_There are no feelings_!" Altaїr shouted, his patience finally snapping. "Drop the subject now, else I will bite my tongue off—what use will I be of then?"

"You're stubborn too," Cross sighed. "Turning out more like Mercer the longer I'm around you...can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

Altaїr rolled his eyes and limped into the room the Captain had lead him to.

I suppose I am to be tortured now?" he asked in a tight voice, allowing the taller male to lower him to the floor in front of the bed.

"Nope," cross said, closing and locking the door. "First order of business is to dig the slug out of your leg."

Altaїr made a face at that. "A slug?" he asked. "You shot me with a repulsive, slimy creature?"

Cross stared at the Middle-Eastern man for a long moment, trying to judge whether or not he was serious. "Just shut up," he said. "It's going to hurt like a bitch, and if I have to listen to you whimper and scream, I don't want to already be too annoyed by your nonsense talk."

The Captain crossed the room and entered the small adjoining bathroom, emerging a moment later with a white case.

"Bite down on this," he said, removing his belt from his pants and folding it in half. "Don't want you biting your tongue off accidentally when you're willing to make a show out of it."

"Piss off," Altaїr spat at the Captain, though he took the belt and bit down on the leather. He watched as cross produced several items from the white case. He didn't actually feel nervous until he saw a squat pair of tweezers.

"Wmat 're ths fr?" he mumbled around the belt.

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" Cross muttered. He picked up the tweezers and placed his free hand just below Altaїr's knee, which had already been soaked with blood from the wound. "This is going to hurt."

"Ymn 'ready said th—ah!" He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, unable to silence a scream of agony.

"Stop being such a baby," Cross said as he drove the tweezers deeper into the wound, searching for the bullet.

The assassin's arms moved back, his hands gripping the blanket as his uninjured leg kicked out, an unwilling reaction to the pain. "Leave it in!" he wailed, the belt falling form between his teeth. "F-fucking leave it in!"

"You're more of a wimp than Mercer," Cross sighed. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then grinned in triumph as he pulled the bullet from the assassin's leg. "Gotcha," he said, setting the piece of metal on a square of gauze.

"Great," Altaїr panted. "Now if we're done, I would like to throw up now..."

"Not yet," Cross said, setting the tweezers aside and picking up pair of miniature scissors. "Now, I have to sew up the hole it left. And if you scream like you did before, I will knock out your teeth. Understood?"

The assassin glared at the Captain as the man cut through the fabric of his jeans. Cross set the scissors aside and reached into his vest, pulling from the army grade material a silver flask. He opened it, took a swig then handed it to Altaїr. The assassin recognized the smell and held it out immediately for the other to take back.

"The last time I drank whiskey, I did something I regret."

"Drink, or I'll make this much worse for you." His hand hovered near a brown bottle in the medical kit. Altaїr had no way of knowing what its contents were, but Cross knew what hydrogen peroxide felt like on an open wound.

Assuming Cross had a medley of unpleasant tortures he could employ, Altaїr screwed up his face at the smell of the drink, but took a couple of swigs from the flask.

"Good. You _can_ follow orders," the Captain said, tucking the flask away again. He turned back to the bullet wound, picking up a thin, curved needle and what looked like thin wire. Once he threaded the needle, he began the slow, agonizing process of suturing the wound.

The drink was probably what made Altaїr able to not squirm, even though it was insanely uncomfortable feeling something pull through his skin, tugging it together. He shuddered when Cross finally snipped the wire and poured water over the wound, clearing it of blood. "You can let go of the blanket now. I don't think it's going to save you."

Altaїr grimaced at the man, then looked away.

Once Cross had put the medical kit away, he helped Altaїr onto the bed, allowing him to sit propped against the headboard.

"How did you find the base anyway?" the Captain asked. "You don't look like a native of Manhattan."

"I'm not," Altaїr said. "I'm from Masyaf."

"In Iraq?" Cross asked.

"I don't know...I come from Syria, if that is still around. Your people have such strange names for countries." He shook his head. "Regardless. It was easy enough to track you military. I had only to follow a group of your men, and when it seemed there were many men in the same uniform, i figured I was close."

"And you managed to get into a high-security, VIP-access military base and infiltrate a medical lab how?"

The assassin smirked. "You do not become a Master by being anything less than flexible. Your security was not difficult to evade, though the room in which you hid Ze—Alex was difficult to find. I had to implement a special skill of mine."

"You're cockier than I am," Cross laughed. He sobered quickly, his eyes narrowing. "But seriously. A single man managing to infiltrate my base without breaking a sweat? Come on. There must be a mole. Who was it? Who helped you?"

Altair sighed. "No one helped me," he said.

"Who is the mole?" Cross pressed, raising his voice.

"There is no mole! I don't even know what a mole is!"

Cross threw his hands up in disgust. "Do you live under a rock?"

"No! It just so happens that I'm not from this fucking time!" the assassin snarled. His eyes widened, and he looked away hurriedly.

"Excuse me?" Cross said.

"It's nothing.:

Sighing, the Captain pulled his gun from its holster again, aiming it at Altaїr's groin. "Shall we try this again?" he asked. "A little higher perhaps? Make some more permanent damage? You didn't want kids, right?"

Altaїr looked over at the man, grimacing as he raised his hands to shoulder level. "Fine," he growled. "Ask your questions."

"You said you weren't from this time. What does that mean?"

"It means what it implies," Altaїr said, lowering his hands to his lap. "I come from Masyaf—"

"You already said that."

"—in the early thirteenth century."

Cross blinked at that, caught off guard. After a moment of stunned silence, he burst into raucous laughter, bending over with his hands on his knees, his face turning red from the force of the laughter.

This irritated Altaїr to no end. "What is so hysterical?" the assassin asked blandly.

Cross stood up, wiping on of his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Oh, that's great," he said, traces of laughter still in his voice. "So you expect me to believe that you are some time-traveling monk from Iraq sent to 2012 Manhattan to...what? Help us in our moment of need?"

The assassin blinked, his expression revealing nothing.

Cross raised a brow. "You're serious?"

"Completely."

The Captain sobered, his brows drawing together in confusion, and possibly even anger at having been made into a fool. "How?" he pressed, raising his gun again.

Altaїr sighed, having become quite annoyed with being threatened by the weapon. "Have you heard of something called the Apple of Eden?"

"Never heard of it," Cross said, his expression remaining as it was.

"Unsurprising. The Apple of Eden is an alien artifact. It brought me here for...unknown reasons. My only goal now is finding a way home."

"Why don't you just use the Apple again?"

"I can't. I don't have it," Altaїr said, omitting the fact that he doubted its use even if he had possession of it.

"Who does?"

The assassin remained silent.

Rolling his eyes, Cross moved his thumb to the hammer of his gun, cocking it back—an unnecessary action for modern guns, but one that would hopefully inspire a loose tongue in the man before him.

"Alex has it," Altaїr growled. "I don't know where he has hidden it."

Cross' eyes examined the assassin's face for a long moment, assessing the probability of him telling the truth. "Thank you for your cooperation," he finally said, releasing the hammer on the gun and flicking the safety on once again. "You've been a tremendous help." He turned away from the assassin, pulling what looked like a black brick with a stick coming off it. The Captain pressed a button, then spoke into the brick."I have new information on the Apple from the Syrian. Call Randall. Confirm a meeting with him at noon tomorrow."

"Affirmative," a voice answered from the box, though it was broken and mechanical sounding.

"I thought you didn't know what the Apple was," Altaїr called as the other opened the door.

Cross smirked and turned to look at Altaїr again. "You're not the only one who's a Master. My craft happens to be acting to get what I want. Have a good evening. Someone will bring you food in a few hours." He left the room then, closing the door and leaving a guard in the hallway.

"Your partner, Altaїr, turned out to be quite the fascinating character," Cross said as he walked into McMullen's lab. "I had an interesting conversation with him."

"What the fuck have you done with him?" Alex snarled, crying out from between gritted teeth as McMullen took another biopsy of his skin.

"He's perfectly content in my quarters," the Captain said. "And watch your mouth. You might offend the doctor."

"I'm quite accustomed to its swearing, Captain, but I appreciate the gesture," McMullen said as he placed a slide under his microscope. "And by the way, you used the injection didn't you? The one we have been experimenting with?"

"Yes," Cross said matter of factly. "I wanted to see what it would do to Mercer."

"What if you had killed it?" McMullen asked, a certain amount of anger entering his voice. He turned to face the Captain. "What if you damaged him?"

"It didn't," Cross objected. "All it did was give him a hard-on."

A disdainful expression crossed the scientist's face. "Yes, I wondered where _that_ came from. None of the samples I have taken are any good. It must be the serum you blunderingly injected it with."

"Well, it should wear off soon—"

"It's been hours!" Alex interjected. "It started hurting after the first hour; now, it's just ridiculous. I don't think it's wearing off."

Cross glanced at Alex, then back to McMullen. "Maybe he needs to cum?" he suggested. "It'd make sense that since it's only effecting the reproductive organ he'd need to finish to be able to expel it from his system."

McMullen glared at Cross for a moment. "I don't want the specimen damaged any farther," he said. "Make it finish. Perhaps I can make use of it semen...study it or something."

"Now that's just gross," Alex commented.

"Hold on just a minute," Cross said, ignoring the virus' interjection. "I'm not jacking him off."

McMullen turned back to face him, frowning. "Neither will I. I have no interest in its pleasure. Have one of your men do it."

Cross snorted. "I couldn't get one of them to do this if I threatened to kill their grandmother." He frowned, thinking for a long moment. A grin crossed his lips. "I know just who to ask." And by ask, he of course meant order.

"I refuse to do this,"


	7. Chapter 7: A New Experience

"Your partner, Altaїr, turned out to be quite the fascinating character," Cross said as he walked into McMullen's lab. "I had an interesting conversation with him."

"What the fuck have you done with him?" Alex snarled, crying out from between gritted teeth as McMullen took another biopsy of his skin.

"He's perfectly content in my quarters," the Captain said. "And watch your mouth. You might offend the doctor."

"I'm quite accustomed to its swearing, Captain, but I appreciate the gesture," McMullen said as he placed a slide under his microscope. "And by the way, you used the injection didn't you? The one we have been experimenting with?"

"Yes," Cross said matter of factly. "I wanted to see what it would do to Mercer."

"What if you had killed it?" McMullen asked, a certain amount of anger entering his voice. He turned to face the Captain. "What if you damaged him?"

"It didn't," Cross objected. "All it did was give him a hard-on."

A disdainful expression crossed the scientist's face. "Yes, I wondered where _that_ came from. None of the samples I have taken are any good. It must be the serum you blunderingly injected it with."

"Well, it should wear off soon—"

"It's been hours!" Alex interjected. "It started hurting after the first hour; now, it's just ridiculous. I don't think it's wearing off."

Cross glanced at Alex, then back to McMullen. "Maybe he needs to cum?" he suggested. "It'd make sense that since it's only effecting the reproductive organ he'd need to finish to be able to expel it from his system."

McMullen glared at Cross for a moment. "I don't want the specimen damaged any farther," he said. "Make it finish. Perhaps I can make use of it semen...study it or something."

"Now that's just gross," Alex commented.

"Hold on just a minute," Cross said, ignoring the virus' interjection. "I'm not jacking him off."

McMullen turned back to face him, frowning. "Neither will I. I have no interest in its pleasure. Have one of your men do it."

Cross snorted. "I couldn't get one of them to do this if I threatened to kill their grandmother." He frowned, thinking for a long moment. A grin crossed his lips. "I know just who to ask." And by ask, he of course meant order.

"I refuse to do this," Altaїr insisted vehemently as Cross shoved him into a chair which had been drawn up to the side of the autopsy table. "You cannot make me do it."

"Really?" Cross said, pulling his gun for the third time that afternoon. "You want a matching set with that hole in your leg?"

"Your rock-shooter is really getting old," Altaїr said darkly. "Come up with a new threat." He glanced at Alex when he heard snickering. "What is funny?" he asked.

"Just you," Alex said, straining to look at the assassin. "Even with all your training, you're helpless here."

"I came to save your sorry ass, did I not?"

"You would have come for me even if you didn't have to. You'd miss me too much."

"Blasphemous heathen—!"

"Alright, enough!" Cross snapped. "You two are worse than my god damn parents!" He held the weapon in his hand so Altaїr could see it. "It's called a gun. Now shut up and do as I told you, or I'm going to give you a new hole to breath out of."

"Does this man have a hearing problem?" Altaїr asked, looking to Alex.

"Maybe. I don't know though. I make it a point to try to stay away from him."

"And look how well that worked," Altaїr said flippantly.

"The sample, Captain," McMullen called from his microscope in the corner. "That is the only reason I am condoning this ridiculous activity. Do not try my patience."

Cross rolled his eyes and straightened his shoulders. "Alright, fine. I know how I can make you do what I want." He felt the assassin's golden eyes on the back of his head as he strode toward the control panel near the back corner of the room. He smirked as he turned to face the two men, his hand reaching toward a switch. "I'll make this request once more."

"Uh... Altaїr, I think you should consider listening to him," Alex said, wary of what pain the switch would cause.

"No. I refuse to degrade myself—"

"FUCK!" Alex strained against the straps holding him to the table, and his hands scrabbled at the metal, his nails making pitiful screeching sounds.

"Those are stainless steel, barbed rods spearing through his triceps right now," Cross informed them. "It's gonna hurt even worse when they get to the bone."

"Stop!" Altaїr shouted, trying to come to his feet. He fell back onto the chair, hissing in pain. His hand moved to his thigh, and he swore under his breath.

Alex cried out again, a pitiful sound.

"Fine!" the assassin snarled. "I'll do it!"

Cross flipped the switch to its original position and Alex sagged in relief, his screams becoming whimpers. "I knew you'd see reason."

"I'll kill you," Alex vowed, straining to see the Captain from the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, yeah. Save your revenge speech for if you actually make it out of here alive." He came to stand beside Altaїr, just out of arm's reach. "And come on! I'm doing you a favor. Maybe after this, your unrequited love will be...requitted."

"That's not even a word," Alex panted.

"Doesn't make it any less possible." The Captain looked down at Altaїr. "Come on," he said. "Hop to it. Rub your hands together or something. Warm 'em up."

"Not the first time I've heard it. Now hurry up. I'm starting to lose my patience." He took a step forward and removed the towel from Alex's body.

"Are your arms alright?" Altaїr asked, wary of causing the other more pain, but also wanting to stall for as long as he could.

"Just peachy. Love having things shoved through my flesh, you know? Oh, and on top of that, I get to have a time traveling assassin give me a wank. I'm just over the moon!"

"Would you like fries with that order of self-pity?" Cross said unsympathetically. "Now shut up and let him do what I brought him here to do."

Altaїr stared at Alex's length, feeling disgusted, but also enticed. He must have felt something toward the other, or the alcohol he'd drunk wouldn't have urged him to kiss him...

"Just pretend you're doing it to yourself," Cross sighed impatiently.

"Shut up! I am trying to work up to doing it. Just...give me a moment." Altaїr looked up at Alex, who had his eyes closed. Was he pretending he was anywhere but on that table? About to feel another man's hand around his most intimate parts? Did the thought disgust him that much? Altaїr felt a certain degree of hurt at that thought, and he moved his eyes to the other's arm. It seemed to be trembling, jerking in little spasms. That didn't surprise the assassin in the least, what with the damage it had just been dealt. "I'm ready," he sighed.

"Finally." Cross' impatience rubbed at Altaїr's already frayed nerves, but he said nothing more. Instead, he reached forward, taking Alex's length in his left hand and grimacing as he did.

"Why don't you use the hand that isn't missing a finger?" Cross suggested.

"I am left handed," Altaїr spat. "You told me to pretend I am doing this to myself. I use my left hand. Don't like it? Dont' watch." With Cross quietly seething behind him, Altaїr began to stroke Alex's member, holding it loosely as he was uncertain if he squeezed too hard, or not enough. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Alex more pain.

"This is...so wrong," Alex commented, opening his eyes finally. He glanced over at Cross with nothing but hatred in his eyes. "I hope you're pleased with yourself—"

"I am. Now shut up. Altaїr, stroke faster. He's still coherent enough to annoy me."

Begrudgingly, the assassin obeyed, moving his hand a little faster along the organ he held. When he gave a little twist in one of the strokes, Alex gasped ever so slightly, balling his hands into fists.

"Oooh, do that again!" Cross said, an excited edge to his voice. His eyes were locked on Alex's face.

Altaїr obeyed the order, twisting his hand with each stroke now. This awarded him with a short, quiet moan, and a jerk of a leg. The jerking limb, however, awarded Alex very differently.

"F-fuck! Turn it off!" Alex shouted as electricity seared through his body. Altaїr released the other in time not to be electrocuted himself.

"Oh, right," Cross said, dragging his gaze away from the scene. "McMullen, take care of it."

The scientist sighed dramatically, but stood from his seat behind his microscope and walked to the control panel without any real sense of urgency. He gave Cross a bland look before he pressed a big, red button—the likes of which one would see in a spy movie.

Alex sagged again, panting heavily.

"He did nothing that time," Altaїr said accusingly. "Why was he punished?"

"I forgot to turn the electricity off," Cross explained with a shrug. "Now go on. You were doing great. Now do some more great."

Altaїr glared at the Captain for a moment before he reached out and reclaimed the organ, repeating the motion that had drawn such reactions from the other. Before long, Alex was breathing heavily, his cheeks having taken on a bright red tint.

"You're doing very well," Cross said. "Now take your thumb and rub the tip."

"I don't need, nor do I want your advice," Altaїr snapped. "I grew up without television or video games. What do you suppose I did in my spare time?"

"So did _not_ need that image, Altaїr," Alex piped in.

"Oh shut up," Cross and Altaїr said simultaneously. They shot each other a glare, then went back to their respective activities of stroking and watching.

Desptie his earlier retort about not needing advice, Altaїr shortened his strokes, rubbing his thumb along the ridge of the head, moving it to the slit in the tip.

"Oh, God," Alex moaned, his hips bucking lightly against the straps. "S-Stop that..."

"Does it hurt?" Altaїr asked, stilling his thumb.

"No, it feels fucking amazing, and I don't want to give Cross the satisfaction of seeing me squirm."

"Keep it up," Cross ordered. "Rods or electricity? Your choice if you don't get moving."

Altaїr sighed heavily and murmured, "I'm sorry," before he continued, abusing Alex's tip with his thumb. At one point, he brought his other hand to take the rest of Alex's length, stroking it as his thumb continued its action.

" Altaїr...f-fuck, stop it, damn it. I'm gonna—ngh!" His eyelids drooped, and his hips strained against the straps, making them groan in protest. Contrasting to his moans of pleasure, Alex did not climax—nothing happened, as a matter of fact. Not a drop of anything came from the erected organ.

"Is that it?" Cross asked. "You don't have ED, do you?"

"I don' thae ED, you sick son of a bitch. I don't know why I can't...it hurts though. God, it's burning..."

"Perhaps it requires more stimulation," McMullen suggested from the corner of the room.

"Why is he even still here?" Alex snapped. "He creeps me out..."

"Unfortunately, this is his lab. I can't exactly kick him out. He outranks me."

"Think of something quickly, Cross. I am losing my patience," the man in question ordered.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm thinking." The Captain's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head a few times, as if disregarding ideas. When Altaїr had begun to think he might be allowed to leave for lack of usefulness, Cross finally said, "Suck him."

"What?" Altaїr and Alex snapped at the same time.

"I want you to blow Mercer. It's the only sure way to make him finish. What man wouldn't be able to with a mouth around his cock?"

"Absolutely not!" Altaїr snarled at the same time Alex snapped, "Fuck no!"

"Let's see what other fun things this table can do," Cross said in a voice much akin to a child's at a fair. It was exceptionally disturbing.

"No!" the assassin cried out, reaching out to grab Cross' sleeve as he passed. "Don't hurt him anymore...I beg of you."

A smirk crossed the Captain's lips, and he brushed Altaїr's hand off of his arm. "See? There they are," he said.

"What?" Altaїr asked, obviously confused.

"The feelings. I knew they were there. Now we've drawn them out." He glanced at Alex, who still looked uncertain about the whole situation, though the flushing of his cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of his chest suggested that he might not protest to being finished off. "Do what I have told you, or I will dissect him while you watch."

"You know, the death threats aren't really helping me along," Alex puffed as Altaїr took him into his hand again, continuing his stroking.

"Why are you even still talking? Shouldn't you be moaning or something?" Cross grumped, giving the virus a disdainful look.

As if on cue, Alex's eyes widened, and he moaned louder than he had before, but it sounded strained, as if he'd tried to keep it quiet. Altaїr had lowered his mouth to the other's tip and begun stroking his tongue along the silky head. Alex felt quite nervous about having the assassin's mouth so close to him, what with the names he had called him, the times he had annoyed him, and the countless hours of worry he must have caused the assassin. The mouth wasn't what worried him—the teeth were cause for concern.

"Are you sucking him? Or licking an ice cream cone? Hurry up. I don't have all day," Cross persisted.

Altaїr allowed the comment to slide, concentrating instead on what he needed to do. He stowed away his reservations about the action itself and took Alex's tip into his mouth, closing his lips around the organ and beginning to suck, bobbing his head slightly at the same time.

"Oh...fuck," Alex moaned, no longer caring about his volume. His nails dug into his palms, and he was almost certain he'd drawn blood, but couldn't be bothered to care at that point. His eyes slid shut, and he shuddered violently as the wet warmth of the assassin's mouth surrounded him, drawing pathetic sounds from his throat.

"That is...vile," he heard dimly from the corner of the room. Cross might have said something in response to—Alex assumed it to be McMullen's voice—the comment, but it was lost in the pounding of blood in Alex's ears.

Altaїr's brow furrowed at the uncomfortable feeling of having something so large in his mouth, and partially down his throat. It wasn't something one simply got used to—especially when one's gag reflex was as strong as Altaїr's. He pulled back from the organ, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to Alex's tip. Wiping his mouth almost frantically, Altaїr breathed deeply for several seconds, his hand replacing his mouth around his moaning counterpart's member.

"Why'd you stop?" Cross asked.

"I need to breathe," Altaїr retorted, glaring over his shoulder at the Captain. "You try breathing with a penis in your throat."

"I imagine it would be difficult," McMullen added, his glasses reflecting the lights overhead to hide any emotion that might have been gleaned from his eyes.

"Shut up before you make the kid pee himself," Cross ordered. "You creep them out, remember? Go back to your chemistry set."

Taking another deep breath, Altaїr lowered his mouth over Alex's cock once again, trying not to gag as he opened his jaws a little wider. The moans coming from the male were almost enough to make this worthwhile...not only were they pleasing to the ear, but the high-pitched ones—which were few and far between, but still very much a part of the experience—could certainly be used as leverage in future arguments. If they had future arguments...their fate was still uncertain at that point.

Alex felt the familiar pulsing low in his belly, and he hoped that this time he would be able to climax. His cock throbbed dully with a mix of pain and pleasure, and it nearly came to the point where he couldn't distinguish between the two.

"Ah!" he cried when Altaїr's teeth scraped sensitive skin, though it wasn't an outburst of fear, or pain. It had felt good...damn good, and he wanted more of it.

"What's wrong?" Altaїr asked, pulling back.

Had he the use of his arms, Alex would have reached down and shoved his head back onto him, but since he didn't, he couldn't. "Teeth...teeth, use your damn teeth," he panted, straining against the straps that held him down. Cross had been a smart man to turn off the electricity. Alex would have been a smoldering, crispy hunk of meat by that point had he not.

"You want me to bite you?" Altaїr asked, confused.

"No, you idiot. Do...what you were doing before. Just make your teeth scrape me again. That felt great."

"I will never understand you," Altaїr sighed. He glanced at Cross, who had moved to the opposite side of the table, possibly for a better view. He took Alex's tip into his mouth again, running his tongue over it while his hand rubbed what remained. His teeth rubbed along the other's shaft, drawing deeper, more desperate moans from him. Altaїr had just decided to pull back for air when Alex cried out, and warm liquid filled the assassin's mouth.

"Perfect," Cross said with a grin.

Altaїr pulled back with a sour expression on his face, and was greeted by the sight of a Petri dish in front of him. "The sample, if you please," McMullen said.

"You're the kind of guy who wouldn't swallow, aren't you?" Cross asked.

"Considering I don't participate in these activities, I wouldn't know," McMullen answered as Altaїr spat the sample into the plastic disc. "Now if you're finished, I want him out of my lab."

"Come along, Altaїr. You can rest in my quarters again."

The assassin stood, wiping at his mouth. He limped heavily until Cross came to his aide, supporting his injured side. Altaїr said nothing on the walk back to the Captain's room. Cross didn't prompt him to speak, knowing that having been forced to perform such an action must have been quite traumatic. He just hoped it hadn't damaged him too badly.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" McMullen asked as Cross reentered the room. He'd had to sedate Alex when the male realized Altaїr was being led away.

"Of course I did," Cross said. "We don't exactly have access to the internet or bookstores. Can't exactly find porn anywhere else."

The scientists lip drew up in disgust, and he shook his head. "You are a sick man, Captain," he said as he walked toward the computer screen on the back of the wall.

"Not the first time I've been called that," Cross said, following McMullen. "You got it on tape, though, right?"

"Of course." McMullen pulled a disc from his computer and held it out to the Captain. "Don't do it too often; you'll go blind."

"You mean that's why I can't see straight anymore?" Cross gasped in mock shock, taking the disk. "Mind your own business. And when he wakes up, put him in his cell. Feed him. We have enough samples."

"I thought I outranked you?"

"Not when it comes to Mercer."


	8. Chapter 8: In Times of War

**Author's Note:**** Hi again. Sorry about not updating for so long; I was working on "Get Rid of It" for a while before I lost the inspiration to, but now I'm working on "When You're Out of Options." I hope you're all happy with this update, and if not, sorry about that. . My Occupational Therapist is still telling me to lay off on my typing, but I'll still try my hardest to update in a timely manner. **

**Thank you again to all my lovely supporters, and thank you for reading! Stay lovely~**

* * *

"Stop talking to me," Alex snapped.

"I didn't_ want_ to do it," Altaїr countered, gripping the bars of the cell that separated him from Alex.

"I don't care if you wanted to or not, it's the fact that it happened at all that bothers me..."

"So you are angry at me for doing something which kept harm from coming to you?"

"Excuse the hell out of me if I don't prefer being molested over being jabbed with needles—"

"They would have killed you!"

"Then let them kill me!" Alex snarled, coming to his feet. "They're going to kill me anyway, so why drag out my sorry existence? I run, I hide, I consume people. The only thing I can think of right now is what poor sap I'm going to eat next. I don't _like_ living like this, Altaїr!"

"Your life is no worse than mine," Altaїr said, glaring at his counterpart. "Don't pretend to be superior to me." His eyes narrowed, and he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest.

_I'm not pretending_, Alex thought mutinously, though he didn't voice his mutterings. Instead, he asked, "So. Do you have a brilliant escape plan? Or did you come in here balls out, guns blaring, hoping that everything would work out for the best?"

Altaїr remained in shocked silence for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond to that. His cheeks burned lightly, and he balled his hands into fists, holding them at his side. "For your information," he snapped, "if I hadn't come to your aid, you would still be strapped to that table, and they would still be torturing you."

"And thank God for your help! This is a much better situation," Alex said, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. He moved to the bench in his cell and shook his head as he sat down heavily. His head hurt, and he felt weak...beyond the weak of normal exhaustion. He was hungry too. The hunger that gnawed at him wasn't a human hunger...it was the hunger of the virus inside of him. A hunger that had to be sated else it would find its own way to satisfy itself.

"At least I was trying to do something," the assassin muttered. He glanced over at his neighboring cell, frowning when he saw Alex limp slightly as he walked toward the grating separating them. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern replacing the contempt in his voice.

"Just fine," Alex snapped. He obviously wasn't finished being mad at the other, and the concern in the assassin's voice just ticked him off more. What with their most recent encounter, he didn't want anything to do with Altaїr. Especially if it meant having to be in civil with him.

"Are you always such an ass?" Altaїr questioned, anger edging his voice again.

"I've been called worse, but pretty much, yeah," Alex retorted. He raised his gaze to meet Altaїr's, the sickly glow around them having returned in force. "If you have a problem with that, maybe you should find someone else to blow."

A disgusted sound escaped Altaїr, and he turned away, striding to the bench in his own cell. He wanted to pace, but if he did, it would mean having to look at Alex. That was the last thing he wanted to do at that point. _Arrogant, stupid, naive, child!_ he thought. _He should be thanking me, and instead, he insults me, tells me to go away. Perhaps I should have remained in the apartment. I don't care if he dies. _A groan came from the cell beside his, and he turned against his better judgment to investigate.

"What's going on?" one of the guards that had been assigned to them demanded, turning and rapping his baton on the metal.

"I think he's choking!" Altaїr exclaimed, watching in astonishment as Alex collapsed onto his side, writhing with his forearms pressed against his stomach.

"It hurts!" Alex moaned, falling from the bench onto his knees.

"Help him!" Altaїr snapped, looking to the guard who fumbled with one of the same walkie-talkies he'd seen Cross use.

"C-Command, Zeus is freakin' out," the soldier stammered, stepping back from the cell and replacing his baton with his assault rifle. "Orders?"

A moment of silence followed, in which Alex crawled to the door of the cell and gripped the metal with one hand, the other still clutching the fabric of his shirt. "Let me out," he groaned.

"Stay back!" the guard ordered, dropping his walkie-talkie and gripping his weapon with both of his hands. He aimed it at the infected man and took a few steps back, bracing himself against the wall. "I'll shoot, god damn it! Stay back!"

_Stand down, and don't get too close_, a voice on the walkie-talkie ordered. _The Captain is on his way_.

Bending to retrieve the discarded object, he pressed the button and stammered, "He better hurry! This guy's gonna go nuclear—" The door to the cell block opened, and the imposing figure of Captain Cross strode purposefully into the room.

"Stand back," he told the soldier who immediately scrambled back, giving his commanding officer room.

Cross drew his handgun from its holster and pointed it at Alex. "Hollow point bullets, Mercer. Do you really want to deal with that pain?" He knew the bullet wouldn't kill Alex, but pain was just as much of a deterrent as the threat of death.

A wheezing laugh came from the male in the cell, and a sickly gray-red mist spread out from him, and the skin visible on his hands and neck rippled black and red. The claws Altaїr had seen before formed in place of the other's arms, and red static flashed over them, making the claws gleam. "I really don't give a shit," the virus hissed through clenched teeth. He cocked his arm back, and as he punched through the bars of the cell, Cross' gun fired three times in quick secession, each bullet hitting its target.

"Alex!" Altaїr shouted, stepping away from the bars separating them, his eyes wide. "What...what is happening to you?"

One clawed hand had wrapped around the soldier's torso, squeezing until the man's screams were cut off as broken ribs pierced his lungs. Altaїr watched as the man's eyes rolled back in his head and blood spewed from his mouth as he tried to breathe.

He turned his eyes away, focusing on the other clawed hand, which had moved to handle Cross. The Captain had drawn a blade from his belt and fended the hand off for a few strikes, but he was obviously overpowered. The clawed hand bashed Cross against the opposite wall, cracking his head against the concrete, and Zeus snarled in satisfaction.

Altaїr looked back to the soldier in Alex's grip and his eyes widened as he saw the last of the man being absorbed into the black biomass. "God save me," Altaїr whispered, moving his finger to his lips and pressing his back against the bars on the farthest side of the cell.

The virus turned to face the final man in the room. He strode toward the bars of the cell and his hands—which had returned to their normal state—pushed them apart with ease. Stepping through, he walked toward the trembling assassin, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. His right hand moved to grip Altaїr's throat, and the assassin's hands moved to his wrist.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't snap your neck," he said in a deceptively soft voice.

Altaїr thought about that for a moment, trying to think of a reason. Alex wasn't particularly fond of him, and he hadn't exactly managed to do anything to help them get out of there. But why would Alex want to kill him? He hadn't done anything to endanger him...why was Alex acting like this? It made no sense.

"I have no reason," the assassin choked out. "Would you kill a man who has done you no harm?"

"You are weak, and you are in my way," Alex said as alarms began blaring out in the hallway. "It would be easier to kill you and leave—"

"Then do it!" Altaїr snarled, tears filling his eyes. The lack of oxygen caused by the other choking him made his head spin, and he closed his eyes. "Kill me and stop asking me if you should. I won't choose my own death; you're just dragging it out. Be done with it."

Zeus blinked at the man he held, looking him over. He had spirit, and if that meant anything to him, he might have cared. His fingers squeezed, drawing pained, choking gasps from Altaїr. A grin spread on the virus's lips, but quickly disappeared as he rocked back on his heels as if he'd been struck.

_No!_ a voice snarled in his mind. He dropped Altaїr in his surprise and took a step back. His lip curled in anger and disgust, and his right arm formed a blade. Raising it to bring it down on the nearly-unconscious male, he snarled as his body hesitated. _Leave him alone!_ the voice snapped.

"Why should I? He is nothing to me! He is weak!"

_He's _mine_!_ the voice proclaimed.

Zeus's eyes flashed, and he tried again to bring the blade down on the assassin's neck, but his arm wouldn't move. He screamed in frustration, the sound echoing in the room and reaching his own ears. It was inhuman...not a sound that anyone short of insane could make, yet it came from his throat. Zeus tried to leave the cell, but the voice—which he assumed to be his host—wouldn't allow it. He stooped to pick the assassin up with a disgusted snarl.

Laying the now-unconscious male over his shoulder, he stepped back through the bent metal bars separating their cells and walked through the doorway he'd ripped the bars from earlier. Stepping over Cross' unconscious form, he reached for the door handle and tore it off its hinges. With one last glance back at the man who had caused him so much pain, he started through the hallway, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the hallway before him.

A soldier burst through a door with his gun raised, but he never had the chance to squeeze the trigger. Zeus's arm morphed into the writing black biomass and sailed forward, gripping the man's throat with gleaming claws. The virus yanked the soldier toward him consuming him on the way.

"That's much better," he whispered in an almost euphoric moan. The sirens were a minor annoyance, but if suffering them meant he could leave that awful place, then he couldn't care less. As he strode down the hallway, a frown tugged gently at his lips. There should have been people piling up at doors to try to recapture him...so where had they gone?

"Zeus!" a voice thundered from the opposite end of the hallway the virus had just come from.

Turning, he faced the man who'd called him out with a displeased expression. "I thought you'd be down for longer," he drawled.

"You don't want to do this," the Captain warned, pulling his gun from its holster. "You don't want to get your buddy killed, do you?"

"Why does everyone assume I care for this thing?" he asked, giving the shoulder which supported Altaїr a surreptitious shrug. "I couldn't care less if it died or not."

"Then put him down and surrender yourself. I know that's not exactly your M.O, but if you don't, you'll regret it—I guarantee it."

A smug sneer spread on Zeus' lips, and he shook his head. "In all the time we have fought each other, you still know nothing about me—I don't just give up." He turned and walked to the door at the end of the hall and shoved it open, stepping out into the afternoon sunlight...

...and felt the world tilt on its axis.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarled as the wind whipping up around him blew his hood back from his face. The weight of the assassin vanished from his shoulder, and he twisted in the air, trying to understand what had happened. He didn't have enough time to take anything in and make sense of it before he crashed into something cold, and very wet.

Water...terror gripped him like an icy claw, and his mouth opened in a scream muffled by the liquid he was submerged in. The biomass which composed him rippled under his skin, and he shot up through the water, resurfacing with a spluttering gasp. He cried out as he dropped back toward the water, but this time, he was more prepared. He met the water and forced himself farther forward when he was expelled for the second time. There was a small island a few meters away. If he could make it there, then he could assess his situation.

It took him less than ten seconds to reach the smudge of land, and when he did, he crouched there panting for a long minute, shuddering as the water dribbled off his clothes and the biomass slithered under his skin.

_Altaїr _Alex's voice whispered through his mind. _Where is he?_

Zeus turned to look back at the water, scanning it with wide eyes to try to find where the assassin had gone. When he couldn't find him, he turned away, intending to continue on, but he cringed and cried out, gripping his head. Alex was fighting him...he refused to leave Altaїr there to drown. Weak and frightened, the virus submitted to its host, allowing Alex control of his body once again.

"Altaїr!" Alex shouted, turning back to the water. He looked helplessly out over the stretch of water, his heart pounding in his chest. A blur of dark clothing dove into the water, breaking the surface with a loud splash. Alex paced the edge of his little island, impatiently waiting for them to resurface. "Come on, come on," he whispered, dread tugging at his heart.

Just when he thought that neither of them would emerge, he saw something break the surface of the water, and heard long, ragged gasps. "Here!" Alex shouted, waving his arms. "Bring him here!" He watched helplessly as the Blackwatch soldier—that's the only person it could be—dragged the unconscious assassin to the island. It took them so long...he was certain Altaїr must be dead, but he refused to believe it.

"Back off!" the soldier snarled as Alex tried to take Altaїr from him.

Blinking the water from his eyes, Alex squinted his eyes slightly against the sun. "Cross?" he asked.

"Shut up and back off if you want me to save your boyfriend," the captain snapped, tearing at Altair's shirt. He removed it in more or less one piece, tossed it aside, and placed one hand on Altaїr's chest, placing his other over the first. He began pumping the assassin's chest with steady, quick motions, baring his teeth from the effort.

After eight pumps, he stopped, tilted Altaїr's chin up, and then—to Alex's amazement—kissed him.

"Get off of him, you pervert!" he cried indignantly. "This isn't the time for that!"

"Mouth to mouth resuscitation, moron," Cross retorted, continuing his pumping. He leaned back down after another set and breathed into Altaїr's mouth again, swearing under his breath. "Don't you dare die," he growled. "You're my ticket to a promotion."

"Oh, that's a wonderful sentiment," Alex snapped. "Now he has all the reason in the world not to die!"

"Just shut up and let me do this."

"He's gone already! Don't you understand? That's already too long. He's dead by now—"

Cross whirled on him and shoved him away. "Shut the fuck up, you whiny little shit. I am sick of being thrown around and hurt by you. I'm on your god damn side," he hissed, anger blazing in his eyes.

Alex would have been dumbfounded if he'd been in control. When Cross had touched him, the Blacklight virus hadn't taken kindly to the intrusion of its personal space. Zeus took a step toward Cross and placed one hand on his chest, pushing him aside. Calmly, he walked up to the assassin—whose lips were looking very blue from lack of oxygen. He lifted his arm high above his head, and his hand and fingers morphed into the black and red claws he often used as his killing tools.

"Mercer, what are you doing," Cross demanded to know, struggling to his feet. The dive into the water had been jarring enough, but then having to locate and drag Altaїr from near the bottom of a moving river? His limbs trembled from the energy he'd spent to do such.

"My name..," Zeus hissed, "...isn't.." he raised his arm a few inches higher, "...Mercer!" He gave a shout and drove his claws into the assassin's chest, drawing blood from the dying flesh. With an effort of will, he clenched the claws, a smirk crossing his lips as the virus leaked into Altaїr's body. He pulled his claws from the unconscious male and turned to face Cross.

"What the fuck was that!" Cross snarled. "Why the fuck did you do that? I went through all that trouble to bring him back, and you go ahead and kill him? I should shoot you right now!"

"Five," Zeus said in a bored voice, rolling his eyes.

"Three fucking minutes of CPR, and you go and kill him!"

"Four."

"Why are you counting?"

"Three."

"Mercer, I swear to God, I will hurt you!" Cross took a step toward Zeus.

"Two."

"Shut up!" Cross roared, gripping the front of Zeus's jacket. He raised his hand as if to punch the male, but faltered when the other grinned—which was more of a baring of his teeth than anything.

"One," Zeus said. Half a second later, a choking, gasping sound came from behind them, and Cross shoved Zeus aside, striding to Altaїr's side.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Cross snarled, looking back over his shoulder.

"I believe I just saved his life," Zeus said in a bored voice. "Now leave before I decide I'm still hungry."

After making sure the writhing assassin had no more water in his lungs, the Captain stood once more and turned to face Alex.

"You infected him, didn't you?"

"And if I did?"

"You fucker!" Cross gripped the front of Alex's shirts and pulled him close. "I ask you for _one thing_; one _simple_ thing!"

"Refresh my memory as to what that was," Zeus said blandly.

"Don't fucking infect anyone!" He shoved the virus away, all but frothing at the mouth. "How the _fuck_ am I supposed to help you if you keep screwing shit up!"

Anger flashed in Zeus' eyes, and he took several steps forward. "and just why would you help me?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm the reason you came to this fucked up city. You came here to kill me."

"That was before I knew Randall was going to nuke the island!" Cross snapped. "There are hundreds of innocents here. I won't let them become collateral damage."

"So out of the kindness of your heart, you've decided to give me aid in my time of need?" Zeus tilted his head back and laughed, full-bodied and cackling laughs.

Cross rolled his eyes as he turned back to face Altaїr, kneeling beside the unconscious assassin.

"Wake up," he said, tapping the assassin's cheek insistently. When the male did not wake, he sighed. "I'm going to get a boat; don't do anything else to him while I'm gone."

A grin spread over Zeus's lips.

"Pervert," Cross muttered before he walked into the water again, swimming strongly toward the island.

Zeus gazed down at Altaїr, wondering how much fun he could have with the unconscious male before the Captain returned. He knelt beside Altaїr and reached down toward him. The assassin's chest bled from the wounds his claws had left, but the punctures were already beginning to heal. With an almost loving gesture, Zeus reached down and trailed his fingers through the blood smeared across Altaїr's torso. It felt warm under his fingertips, and slick against his skin. Lifting his fingers to his mouth, his tongue darted out, licking a scarlet drop from his skin. It tasted salty...metallic. He shuddered in ecstasy.

"What did I tell you?" Cross called.

Raising his eyes, Zeus located the Captain. He was nearly to the island in a small, motorized boat. It took him two minutes to reach the smudge of land, and when he did, Zeus lifted Altaїr and unceremoniously dumped him into the boat.

"Nothing happened," Zeus said innocently.

"I'll believe that the day my mother finally drops dead," Cross muttered, turning the boat. He looked over at Zeus, whose eyes were locked on the base they'd fallen out of not ten minutes ago. "You coming?"

Blinking, Zeus turned to the boat, climbing in and settling down beside Altaїr. "So what is this place?" he asked. "It's the one base I haven't had the pleasure of knowing."

Cross glanced over at the base and then turned his attention to the motor, turning the small, black machine so the boat directed itself toward shore. "It's the base we had built in your...honor."

"My honor?" Zeus asked, raising a brow. "I have no such thing."

"Well we built it to contain you, alright?"

"And it did a bang-up job of that."

Cross let out an annoyed sound that quite resembled a hiss, and he gritted his teeth. _Arrogant prick_, he thought. "We built it in the middle of the river so that if you escaped, you wouldn't get far. We learned about the virus' affliction toward water. Surrounding your container with the one thing you hate seemed like a smart idea."

"It was," Zeus said. "And I hate you for it."

A smirk spread on Cross' lips, and he looked out over the water. "I should bring you back," he said. "If anyone sees me doing this, I'm a dead man."

"You're going the wrong way if you want to turn me in. Turn the boat around; I'll just get out again." Zeus turned to look at Cross, and he waited for the other's response. Would he be the thorn that dug deeper into his side? Or the one that finally fell out and let the wound begin to heal? When the boat didn't lurch around, he assumed he had his answer.

It took them about five minutes to reach the shore. From where they were on the river, they could see the Manhattan bridge as a distant smudge against the horizon. That bridge would be his only way off of the island. It didn't help that the military had destroyed it. The other, less used bridges had been destroyed as well, and those that hadn't were closely guarded by military personnel who usually had one or two tanks with them. It would cause him more trouble than anything to try to escape that way.

"Take him and get out of my sight," Cross said, stilling the boat beside the gravel-covered shore. "Before I change my mind."

Zeus stepped off the boat and considered leaving the assassin, wanting to just get on with his life. But with his luck, when he gave control back to his—he shuddered to think the word—host, he would just return to the base in pursuit of the male. So, he bent to retrieve Altaїr, flinging him over his shoulder. He turned away, then looked back at Cross for a moment.

"Do not cross me again," he said.

The Captain smirked and began turning the boat around. "I'm sure I will. It's in my nature."

"Smart ass," Zeus muttered, walking up the rocky shore.


	9. Chapter 9: Slim Chance

**Author's Note: Sorry this is so slow in coming. I've been working as fast as my brain and schedule will allow. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, because I'm going to put this one aside for a couple of weeks probably to work on "Get Rid of It." After a couple of chapters on that one, I'll come back to this one. I anticipate some nose-bleed worthiness in the next few chapters of this one. ;) Keep in touch, and stay lovely!**

* * *

Pain. That was the first thing he felt as he surfaced from the foggy depths of unconsciousness. It wasn't just pain, though. Agony...pain worse than any he had felt before. He might have been able to retreat into sleep if the pain were only physical. He felt as if he were cart-wheeling on a ship in the middle of a typhoon. His thoughts were in turmoil, and his eyes stretched wide.

Flashes of images crossed his mind, and he gasped, his spine arching with it. He saw horrifically mutated people, some with growths like vegetation along their arms and torsos.

_God help me!_ he begged in a silent scream. His eyes whirled around beneath closed lids, but he couldn't escape the images. A familiar face came into view—Alex. He stood in what must have been a bathroom. His reflection stared back at him.

The face he saw was Alex's, but not the Alex he knew. This Alex's eyes were...different. They held fear and uncertainty instead of their usual bitterness and boredom. Was this real? Could it be a memory? The Apple had shown him images like these, but it was nowhere near this painful.

The image in the mirror fractured and fell away. Pain exploded over the back of his right hand, and he looked down at it. Shards of the mirror stuck out of his bleeding knuckles. He watched as the glass pulled out of his skin and fell to the floor. When he looked back, the wound had completely healed itself.

_Altaїr_, a voice whispered.

The memory shattered around him like the mirror had. He felt a falling sensation, and landed abruptly. Agony burned through him more fiercely than before, and he cried out this time.

_Altaїr_! The voice was louder this time. _Wake up_!

Was he still asleep? He made the effort to open his eyes and shuddered as he did. It felt like his skin was crawling, and his eyes watered in reaction to the burning pain he felt.

"What's happening to me?" he asked. "What's going on?"

A face appeared above him, blocking out the light he hadn't noticed before. "The infection is taking over," Alex said. "You're probably in a lot of pain...I can't do anything about that. I want you awake so I can tell you where I'm going."

The words were far too much to take in, and he shook his head. "W-what?" he asked. "Alex? Slow down..."

"I'm going to find someone who might be able to help you," Alex continued. "I'll be back in a few hours. If you wake up and are able to move...don't. Stay here."

Altaїr closed his eyes again, trying to retreat into sleep once again. The discomfort of his skin crawling had become too much to handle. He could only hope that Alex would be able to find the person he suspected would be able to help him.

* * *

Alex's legs blurred as he ran up the side of a building. It was marginally faster to travel by rooftop than by the streets given how many infected he would run in to. The last thing he needed was an encounter with a Hunter, and—barring any run-ins with water towers—he wouldn't have to worry about the pests.

When the virus had given him control of his body again, Alex had immediately found somewhere safe to take Altaїr. The safest place could have been his apartment, but Cross and the military knew its location; that would be the first place they searched in their pursuit of him and Altaїr. So instead, he'd ducked into an abandoned building as far from the river as he could get without being smack dab in the middle of a Red Zone or near a Hive.

The man he'd told Altaїr about was named Bradley Ragland. Back in the days before the introduction of the Blacklight virus, he had worked for Gentek as a gene therapist, but left their service because he didn't want to deal with the organization's newest project. Blackwatch had been trying to convince him to return—to no avail. He had knowledge of the Blacklight virus, and—if Alex was lucky—could give him information that would be vital to curing Altaїr.

"If anyone can help Altaїr, it's him," he muttered to himself as he raced across another rooftop. He took a flying leap and landed easily on the next building, pushing a satellite dish out of the way as he went. The tenants of the building wouldn't have cable for a while...

The hospital came into view before long, and Alex skidded to a halt at the edge of a roof. The military tried to keep a low profile when it came to the hospital. There were patients that had been affected by the infected one way or another. Their presence would only stress the injured. It didn't look like Blackwatch had posted any extra guards around the hospital, but there was also a base relatively close to it. If someone spotted him, all hell would break loose and he would never get in to see Ragland. So how could he go in there when Blackwatch was surely to be on the lookout for him?

A sex change could work.

Walking to the other side of the building, Alex jumped over the edge, landing heavily on the sidewalk. Unluckily for the concrete, he didn't splatter like most humans would. Instead, his feet landed squarely on the sidewalk and it cracked under the force of his landing. He walked away, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.

Foot traffic at around four o'clock in the morning wasn't too thick, but there were a few people meandering about. He looked around with narrowed eyes. Women were generally more trusted than men...but he didn't like turning into women—it was strange. Regardless, if he was going to have any hope of befriending Ragland—a man known for being untrusting—he was going to have to appeal to his...more basic desires.

"This is going to be wonderful," he muttered as he walked down the alleyway. He stopped at the entrance to it and waited, hunching his shoulders and trying to appear unimposing as the early-risers and night-owls of Manhattan slunk by. Most were businessmen and business women, but a lot of the druggies and drunks of the city came out at four in the morning—fewer people to notice them, and fewer still to oppose them when they made their deals and drank their poisons.

There were so many of them that were too disoriented to stand up, let alone run away—they were ripe for the picking. All Alex had to do was grab a woman without her screaming. He didn't feel like dealing with a sudden warning siren from the military. They'd be all over him then.

He watched the slow stream of people for a few moments before he picked out his target. A scantily-clad woman teetering uncertainly on high-heeled shoes. She could have been many of a handful of unpleasant things, but he came to a pretty certain conclusion: hooker.

Walking up to the quarry, Alex moved close beside her, looking around like someone who intended to do something he shouldn't.

"Hey baby," the hooker slurred. "I'm good, and I'm ch-cheap..."

"Good," he said. "I don't have time to waste, and don't intend to pay you much."

She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Where do you want it?" she asked. "I can do it in a hotel, your car, the alley. I don't c—"

"The alley will do nicely," he said hurriedly, grabbing her arm and taking her aside into the alleyway.

"G-Get your hand off of me," she snapped, wobbling drunkenly on her shoes. "You gotta pay me before you touch me."

"Trust me. I'd rather not, filthy pig," he spat, gripping her arm harder.

"Get off!" she cried weakly, trying to twist her arm out of his iron grip. She clawed at his skin and yanked, letting her legs go limp under her so she could use her weight to unbalance him—however slight she might be.

"Dumb bimbo," Alex muttered, releasing her so she fell flat on her back. He stood over her and watched her whimper for a moment, marveling in how far the scum of Manhattan had descended. They were pitiful...they were disgusting. Alex drew a breath into his lungs and lifted one leg, stomping down on the hooker's stomach. She curled reflexively, her hands moving to his leg, which had punched through her stomach and crushed her spine against the asphalt. She spasmed a few times, coughed blood, then went limp as tendrils flowed from Alex's skin and began to consume her, devouring the living cells which composed her.

Alex closed his eyes and let out a slow breath before he began the uncomfortable, but simple transformation which would change his body to the fairer sex. He snickered at the thought. Women were weak...then again, so were men. Everyone was weak by comparison to him. He was, after all, neither of the genders. His host may be, but he himself—

_Jesus, I'm starting to think like it_, he thought, his eyes widening slightly. He shook his head and pushed the virus' thoughts away, shuddering as the change happened. In its entirety, it only took about five seconds, but if he paid attention to it, he could slow it down in his mind and feel it happening one step at a time.

His bones seemed to itch as they became smaller, more fit to a female skeletal structure. His muscles burned for a fraction of a second as they shrank and expanded in the various areas needed to fit the new skeleton. As his hair grew out and turned the light brown of the woman he'd killed, he gave his head a shake and flexed his hands as his fingernails grew longer as well. He grimaced as certain parts of his anatomy disappeared, and moved his hands to his chest as the hooker's breasts filled his shirt.

"If it wasn't disgusting," he muttered as the virus rippled over his body, changing his clothes to those which the woman had been wearing, "I could have fun with this."

Once the change was done, Alex walked out into the slow flow of traffic, frowning as he wobbled slightly in the heels. How women managed to walk in them and not break an ankle was beyond him, but he struggled on, walking in as dignified a manner as he could manage.

One of the women at the front desk of the hospital gave him a disapproving glance before she held a chart out to him. Her nametag told him that her name was Janet. "If you don't have a primary care physician, you're going to have to fill out this paperwork," she said in a bored tone of voice. "You can fill it out over there in the waiting room."

Alex took the clipboard from her, then set it on the counter. "Is there a restroom I could use? I'll fill it out when I come back."

Janet gave him another of her disapproving once-overs before she pointed down the hall toward a sign that read: RESTROOMS.

"Thanks," Alex said before he walked toward the bathroom. He strode toward the door, then looked over his shoulder toward the front desk. Janet had busied herself with another patient, taking his paperwork and filing it away. "Bitch," he muttered as he passed the restrooms. "Couldn't even be bothered to question why a hooker would be coming to a hospital." It should have been obvious to him, but he'd never paid attention in health class when it came to the STD's and STI's. They hadn't interested him.

He received a few odd looks from the hospital personnel he passed, but he ignored them completely. They posed no threat. If they asked where he was going, he could say that he'd gotten lost on his way to the bathroom. That seemed to work in the movies he'd seen...surely they'd be dumb enough to believe him?

No such luck.

"Excuse me," a man in powder blue scrubs said, holding a hand out to Alex as he tried to step around him. His nametag read: Christian. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Alex blinked at him for a moment. _Yeah, you can get the fuck out of my way_, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Um...I was looking for the bathrooms."

Christain raised a brow. "You passed three of them. You wanna try me again?"

Narrowing his eyes, Alex crossed his arms over his chest and then looked down at them, trying to figure out why such a familiar motion had become awkward. Boobs. Right. He moved his arms under the chest expansion and popped them up a little, trying to make it feel less strange. "I'm looking for a doctor," he said.

"You're in a hospital. I could figure that much out. Do you know their name?"

"Ragland," Alex said impatiently. "I'm looking for Dr. Ragland. And I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Oh. His office is down that hall, third door on the right. But he's with a patient right now. I can take a message to him if you'd like to wait in one of the waiting rooms. He might be a while."

"I'll wait in his office," Alex said, side-stepping the male nurse. He glanced back over his shoulder and glowered at Christian, silencing any protests the male would have voiced. He made his way unmolested to Ragland's office and opened the unlocked door, stepping silently into the office. He looked around the small room, frowning softly.

It was big enough to be considered an office, but not enough so to be impressive. A desk sat against the back wall with a fake tree on each side. The carpet muffled the heels Alex wore, and made it incredibly difficult to keep his balance. From what he could tell, Ragland didn't spend much time in his office. What little he could remember from his time with Gentek, his desk was always covered in loose papers and manila folders.

"Which means he could take hours to come back," Alex sighed as he walked unsteadily toward the desk. He turned to face the door and leaned against Ragland's desk, crossing his arms under his borrowed breasts and settling in to wait.

Twenty minutes passed, and Alex had begun pacing across the carpet, having discarded the irritating and dangerous high-heeled shoes. He'd just begun to consider leaving the office to go in search for the doctor when the door opened and a man of average height stepped into the room.

"Excuse me," the dark-skinned man said. "I wasn't aware I had a meeting."

Alex stared at the man for a moment, taking in everything he could at a glance. He was of average height, was a little round around the middle, and had short-cut, wiry black hair that had begun to turn gray. His eyes were dark gray and seemed untroubled. He'd led an easy life for at least a few years. They didn't have the haunted look of a man who had to watch his back.

"I hope you don't mind walk-ins, but...I really needed to see you," he said, crossing his legs at the knee and setting his hands on the surface of the desk he sat on.

Ragland raised one graying eyebrow and closed the door behind him, moving to stand in the middle of the room with his clipboard in his hand. "Why would you need to see me?" he asked.

"I have this problem, you see—"

"Unless you have a primary care physician, I can't help you. There is a free clinic on 64th and Grand if you absolutely need to see someone, but I am not the person to help you," he said dismissively.

Irritation burned through Alex, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stop his eye from twitching. "Doctor, I think you're the _only_ one who can help me," he insisted, looking up at him through his borrowed, thick lashes.

"Miss, I think you should leave. I really am not the person to help you—"

"Alright, that's it," Alex snapped, jumping down from the desk. He realized then just how short the hooker he'd consumed was. At least compared to Ragland. "I need your help, and you're going to give it to me whether you want to or not."

In the blink of an eye, Ragland had gone from docile and unperturbed to volatile and dangerous. "Get out of my office," he said in a dangerous voice. At least, it would have been dangerous if Alex hadn't begun laughing.

"You think you scare me?" he cackled. "You have no idea who you're talking to." While his near-hysterical giggling continued, he strode toward Ragland, forcing the man to either walk backwards toward the wall adjacent to the door or collide with the hooker's body—he chose the latter option.

"You need to leave," Ragland insisted, trying again to intimidate Alex by drawing himself up to his full height.

"No_ fucking_ idea!" Alex shouted, the laughter leaking away from his eyes.

"Back up. _Now_," the doctor snapped, his voice gone deeper with anger. He didn't look to be in a joking mood—then again, neither was Alex.

"Listen here, doc," Alex spat, shoving Ragland sharply against the wall, "I'm tired. I've been tortured, molested, shot and nearly killed in the last twenty four hours. I am in no mood to dick around with you. So you're going to help me, or I'm going to beat you within an inch of your miserable life. Am I understood?"

A smirk quirked the doctor's lips, and he even went so far as to chuckle slightly. "You and what army?"

Alex examined Ragland for a moment, wondering if the male was serious...he was. _Disgusting_, he muttered. With a thought, he felt his body begin to change again. It didn't take long. In less than a second, he'd changed from the shrimpy hooker who hardly came up to Ragland's shoulder back to his own body. He now stood with his eyes level with Ragland's, but with a much, much bigger advantage. His arm had morphed into the blade he so favored, and he held it against the doctor's throat. "I don't need a fucking army," he said calmly. "I _am_ the army."

Ragland's lip curled in disgust. "Mercer," he spat. "I should have known."

"Yeah. You should have. Now, are you going to be able to help me? Or not?"

"I don't know. You haven't told me what you need help with."

Alex blinked slowly, trying to control his annoyance. Of course he hadn't told the oaf what he needed... "I need a cure. For the infection. I know you've been working on one."

"And how do you know that?" Ragland asked, raising a brow.

"A little birdie told me," he said, referring to the soldier he'd consumed earlier that day.

"Obviously not a loyal little birdie," Ragland growled. "Whatever you've heard is incorrect. I have been working on something that may one day prove to be a cure for your...kind...but it is nowhere near completion."

"What can it do now?" Alex demanded, his blade pressing into the other's neck ever so slightly. It drew a small amount of blood, and the biomass that constructed the weapon absorbed it greedily.

"It's probably as good as a booster shot," he said, irritation in his eyes. "Either that, or it will kill whomever is injected with it. Do you want to take that risk?"

If he gave the drug to Altaїr and it turned out to be a poison instead of a cure, he would be killing an innocent man—well, mostly innocent. He did that on a daily basis, pretty much, but the assassin was someone he didn't want dead...he was the exception to his hatred of the world. "Give it to me," he said. If there was even a chance he would be able to erase the wrong he had done to Altaїr, he would take it. Even if it meant possibly killing that same man.

_Sentiment_ a voice hissed through his mind. It sounded exactly like his own, but...different. A cold shiver traveled down his spine when he heard it, and goosebumps erupted over his arms and torso. _It is a weakness I will not tolerate_.

_Well, my body, my rules. So shut your trap and go back to your corner_, Alex thought at the virus, stepping back from the doctor and allowing his arm to change back to its normal form. "Get a move on," he growled. "I don't have all day."

Ragland glowered reproachfully at the other, but walked toward the door nonetheless. "Follow me," he said, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

Alex changed back into his female counterpart and followed the doctor as ordered. He was only a little unsteady on the heels this time, so when he came up close behind Ragland, he was certain the other wouldn't be able to knock him over with a swipe of his arm. "Just so you don't get any ideas," he said through a smile, moving his hand to Ragland's back, just above his spine. His middle and index finger formed a five-inch long blade which would pierce his spinal column as easily as a knife sliding into a tomato.

Ragland remained silent for the two minutes it took them to walk down the hall and into a quiet hallway. It seemed to Alex that only hospital personnel were allowed down the hallway, and it gave him a sense of childish uncertainty which quickly faded away with the help of the virus' disgust toward the emotion. _Stop doing that_ Alex though, feeling annoyed.

_I do not take orders from the likes of you_. Again, that slimy, cold shiver. Alex shuddered and shook his head slightly as Ragland led him to a door with a sign on it which read: AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.

"Stop," Alex ordered, his eyes traveling to the hand Ragland had moved to his pocket. "Get your hand away from your pocket, or you lose your legs."

"I'm just getting my keys," Ragland snapped.

"Better be," Alex muttered. He watched closely as Ragland pulled a small key ring from his pocket and inserted a silvery one into the deadbolt locking the door shut. "Go in, get it, and come back out. You have one minute. After that, I go in guns blazing and I kill as many people in the process as humanly poss—well, as many as is possible for me. Capisce?"

"Yes, I understand," Ragland said before opening the door and disappearing inside.

Alex leaned against the wall beside the door, resting one hand on it. Using that hand, a tendril of biomass formed and pushed easily through the plaster and drywall. Once it had reached the inside of the room, Alex could see the heat signature of the doctor's body. The man strode to one side of the room, rummaged in something that made his hands, arms and front significantly cooler, then turned back toward the door. For a handful of seconds, Ragland hesitated, but he seemed to disregard whatever fanciful thoughts filled his head and continued to the door.

"You have to hurry," Ragland said as he closed the door behind him. "Do whatever you're going to do with it quickly; it must stay refrigerated."

Alex stepped away from the wall, retracting the tendril at the same time. He inspected the vial and syringe Ragland held, then snatched them away from him, reading over the ingredients. From what he remembered from his time with Gentek, it seemed like the correct drug...it wasn't anything that could immediately kill Altaїr at least.

"You've been very helpful," Alex said, holding the vial and capped syringe at his side. "Consider your life as payment and as my gratitude." He turned and strode down the hallways, shifting back to his original form only when he had cleared the military-assigned Red Zones. "I hope to God this works," he muttered under his breath as he sprinted along the rooftops back to Altaїr.


	10. Chapter 10: An Uncertain Breakthrough

**Author's Note: Finally! I finished a chapter for this one! I would have posted it sooner if I'd had internet, but I recently moved, and I didn't have any way to upload it to here, and blah blah blah! So much stuff going on...Real life. Don't do it, guys. It's a bore. Anywho! I hope you all enjoy this chapter ^_^ We finally get to see Zeus play more of a role, and we get to have a bit of fun with him too! Letting you all know now, this is where we really start getting into the boinking. **

**_If you_ _do not like it_, _do not read it_. That is all I have to say on the matter.**

* * *

Alex knelt beside the unconscious assassin and leaned over him. He used one hand to carefully raise one of the male's eyelids. The whites of his eyes were shot through with red; several of the blood vessels had burst. At least they weren't the sickly gray of Alex's own…perhaps the virus wouldn't take hold?

And maybe Blackwatch would bring him candies and flowers for his birthday….

"God damn it," Alex sighed as he sat back on his heels. "Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get this stupid thing?" He lifted the vial to look at it. There didn't seem to be anything sinister about it...the liquid in the ampoule didn't look extraordinary, yet it may have the ability to cure the virus. It could cure Altaїr of the scourge which haunted Alex.

It could cure Alex...

He cocked his arm back as if to throw the vial across the room and realized what he was doing right as he was about to open his hand. He closed his fingers tight on the glass, and he pressed his fist to his stomach, holding it there with his opposite hand.

Biomass writhed on his arms, and he bared his teeth in defiance.

"No!" he snarled. "I want you gone, god damn you!"

A voice cackled in his head, and he shuddered in response. With the laugh came a sinking feeling in his gut and a cold, slithering sensation down his spine.

"You think a drug is going to get rid of me? That's hilarious," it laughed. The voice was rough and grating; it felt like glass scraping against his eardrums.

"Go ahead; take it. See if it gets my goat. Or, you could give it to your friend. After all, you love him, don't you?"

"Don't be stupid—"

"It's cute that you think you can lie to me. I'm in your head, Alex. I can see every thought you've ever had, every idea you've ever created. Remember that boy's mouth around you? You liked how that felt. I know you did. You just won't admit it."

"Liar," Alex whispered in defiance.

The voice cackled again, but when it spoke, the humor was gone from it. "You want to feel him around you again. You want him to suck you. Come on, give him the cure. I injected him with enough of my essence to kill him, not turn him."

Alex hesitated.

"Better hurry. It's getting warm," the voice warned condescendingly.

It was right...The vial was beginning to warm in his hand. He had to make his decision quickly. Did he save this man, whom he'd known for less than a month? Or did he take the chance that it may or may not save himself?

"Decisions, decisions," the voice hissed in his mind. "Running out of time..."

He shook his head and removed the cap from the needle. He pressed the tip into the rubber on the ampule, drawing the clear liquid into the barrel of the syringe.

"What's it gonna be, Mercer?" the voice goaded him.

"Shut up!" Alex spat, throwing the empty vial aside. It smashed on the concrete floor of the abandoned building, shattering nicely. "I'm trying to think, you annoying son of a bitch."

"Tut tut," the voice tsked. "Such harsh words for one so vulnerable. I still have control, idiot. If you won't make the decision, I will!"

"No!" Alex snarled as his arm moved involuntarily. It stabbed the hypodermic needle into Altaїr's abdomen and depressed the plunger.

"Now there's no confusion," the voice hissed contemptuously as Alex pulled the needle from the assassin's body.

"I could have cured myself," he said numbly. "I could have gotten rid of you..."

"I'm not so easily forgotten," the voice said. "And stop thinking of me as 'the voice.' I have a name."

"Zeus," Alex sneered as he picked himself up off the ground and moved to a fallen slab of concrete.

"I do not liken myself to my namesake, but the title will suffice. If you must, call me Zeus."

"Alright, Zeus," Alex said in a tight voice. "Go the fuck away."

There was a beat of silence before the voice hissed, "Very well," and vanished.

Once he was alone, Alex looked over to Altaїr with a grimace. "Could you be any more pathetic?" he muttered, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I can't save you every time something doesn't go according to your plans."

"If I remember correctly," the assassin croaked as he began to stir, "I was the one coming to your rescue; it wasn't my fault you didn't cooperate."

Alex stood and walked toward Altaїr. "So you're awake," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone stabbed me in the chest and pumped fire into me," the assassin replied.

"Alright, so better than I thought you'd feel." Alex knelt beside Altaїr and looked him over. "You're going to be sore for a while...you might have a headache later too. I can't really do anything about that."

"Do not worry yourself," Altaїr said. "I've suffered much worse."

Alex snorted at that. "Doubt it," he said in response to the questioning expression on the assassin's face. "Do you know what happened to you?"

Altaїr seemed to puzzle over this for a moment, and he opened his mouth as if to respond, only to close it again.

"Thought so," Alex said, settling back and crossing his legs. "Basically, I was hungry. This thing inside of me...the thing that makes the claws I use to fight with..._it_ was hungry."

"I don't follow," Altaїr said, forcing himself into a sitting position. He winced and struggled to keep himself upright for a while.

"I have something like a parasite inside of me," Alex clarified. "If I don't keep it fed...things like what happened at Blackwatch go down."

"And Blackwatch is?"

Alex sighed and looked away. "People who dedicate their existence to making my life hell," he muttered.

"Doesn't that sound familiar," Altaїr said cynically. He blinked and shook his head.

"What exactly do you feed it?" he asked. "Surely you could have just asked the guard for something to eat and avoided that whole conflict?"

"Hey, that conflict saved your ass," Alex pointed out. He dimly remembered the fighting, and what he did recall wasn't anything he wanted Altaїr to have seen. "Humans," he said abruptly. "I feed it humans. That's the only thing that seems to shut it up when it starts ringing the dinner bell."

"Humans," Altaїr repeated, shock obvious in his voice. "You eat...humans."

Alex glance dot the side, then looked back at Altaїr. "Well yeah," he said. "I'm technically not human anymore. So it's no stranger than Koreans eating dog, or the French eating horse."

The assassin shook his head over and over again. He looked ill. "No...this isn't happening...This _can't_ be happening."

"Well, it's happening," Alex said in a bored voice. "Get over it."

Altaїr stood unsteadily, shuddering as he did. "No, this isn't right. You...you can't eat humans; you can't eat _people_."

"And just why not?" Alex asked, following the disoriented assassin.

"Because that means I will have to as well!" he shouted, turning to face Alex. "You infected me when you stabbed me, and if I'm not dead, it means it's inside me too! I...I can't eat people, Alex. I won't."

"I think you're forgetting that I just risked my ass to get a cure for you," Alex pointed out.

"A cure which may or may not work," Altaїr retorted sharply different voices. That is the work of demons, Alex. And

Alex paused for a heartbeat, puzzling over how he could have come to know that the cure had a chance of failing.

"You might want to have a doctor or a priest look at you," Altaїr muttered. "I heard you before...speaking in two different voices. That is the work of demons, Alex. And demons are not to be trifled with."

So Zeus wasn't just a voice in his head...he'd taken on a more physical being...that was a terrifying thought—one Alex would prefer not to consider.

"Demons, viruses, I don't really care," Alex said, brushing a bit of dust off his jacket. "All I really care about is that I'm alive and kickin'."

Altaїr walked to one of the long-since-broken windows and crossed his arms as he looked out of it. "None of this should be happening," he said solemnly. "I am supposed to be home...with my wife."

"I'll find a way to send you back, alright? I don't want you here any more than you wanna be here. So just stop complaining and start being useful, or I'll leave your ass here."

"If that is what you truly think of me, why not leave me to die?" Altaїr challenged. "You said before that you could save yourself...cure yourself. Instead, you chose to save me."

Alex looked away from the assassin, clenching and unclenching his fists in nervousness. "I wanted to take it...I wanted to use the cure on myself, believe me. The virus decided to go another route."

The assassin remained quiet for a handful of seconds. It seemed almost as if he didn't want to speak his next question. When he did speak, it was with the cadence of a man staring Death down.

"How long?"

How long until his life changed; how long until he became something inhuman? How long until he could no longer call himself alive?

"I honestly don't know," Zeus replied. "According to my file at Gentek, I died human and woke up like this. If the cure works, we could never know for sure, but I would guess it would take a few hours to metabolize. Just give it time."

Altaїr made a rather rude, contemptuous sound. "Time. Something so many take for granted until they've been yanked out of their own and thrust into another."

"Great, now he's going Shakespeare on me," Alex sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, come on. I've heard enough of your pining. Let's go."

"Where to?" the assassin questioned, sounding solemn.

"My apartment," Alex replied. "Then he paused. "Well damn..."

"Is there a problem?" Altaїr moved to stand beside Alex.

"Not really a problem...just an annoyance. Blackwatch knows where my apartment is now, which means I need to find another...they'll probably ransack it while I'm gone, try to find anything they can."

"Lead the way, then."

The two trudged on, silent in their abused states. When they reached the edge of an area controlled by Blackwatch, Alex took a running leap at the brick wall of a building and began running _up _it.

"That's not fair!" Altaїr called as Alex crested the building.

"Stop your whining and just get your ass up here," Alex called back. He waited patiently for Altaїr to join him and lead the assassin across the rooftops. They reached an area outside of Blackwatch's control and managed to find a building a few blocks shy of a neighborhood which had been freed of infection. It was in such disrepair, however, as to be uninhabitable.

Alex turned to face Altaїr. "We stay here for the night, and I'll start scouting for another place. If all else fails, we could see if my sister's apartment is accessible. She'll likely have left a computer there. I might be able to get in contact with her." The thought of possibly being able to talk to his sister again stirred something he'd tried long and hard to forget in his heart. He missed Dana dearly, and wanted nothing more than to see her again...the chances of him seeing her while he was still alive, however, were dwindling with every passing day.

"Alex," Altaїr said, interrupting his thoughts, "You speak as though you expect me to stay here...I am returning to my own time as soon as humanly possible." He moved to stand beside Alex, who was observing the apartment door. "I don't belong here."

Alex kicked the door and grunted with the effort. The door shuddered, but didn't budge. He kicked it again, and it flew open, allowing the two men to file in, eager to finally rest. "Well," he retorted as he took a quick inventory of what the apartment had to offer, "you're not going anywhere until you get the Apple back and figure out how to make it work again. And since you're close to neither goal, you're stuck here with me. Better get used to it.

Altaїr tensed at that. "The Apple!" he exclaimed. "It's back at your apartment...if Blackwatch finds it, I will never be able to return home."

"And that's where it's going to stay until I say otherwise." Alex swept through the apartment, peering through doors and in cupboards. "Two bedrooms, one bathroom, no food. We go hungry tonight. If you have to take a piss, do it outside. There won't be any water in the toilet. Other than that, get some sleep."

Altaїr glared resentfully after Alex as the other disappeared into the bedroom at the far end of the hallway. He walked toward the bedroom he was to stay in, but found himself turning back toward the living room. It was a modest room with a space on a bookshelf where he imagined a television had sat at one point or another, a couch, and what looked to be an armchair. It surprised him that there was no hearth in which to burn a fire...how did the inhabitants stay warm during the winter?

These were strange times for the assassin, and they were getting stranger by the day. As exhaustion dragged at him, Altaїr contemplated going to sleep as Alex had. He frowned, however, and moved his hand to his stomach. It ached with an empty hollowness he'd felt only a few times before.

* * *

Alex woke slowly, struggling into consciousness. His eyes blinked open blearily, and he narrowed them, trying to figure out what had woken him. His chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. Something was on his abdomen...compressing his lungs.

"Wake up," a shuddering voice whispered. "Damn you, wake up!"

"I'm awake, damn it, what the hell is going on?" As he became more aware of his surroundings, Alex felt anger burn inside of him. "Altaїr, get the fuck off of my chest!"

"I need you awake," the assassin insisted.

"I'm up! Now get off of me!" His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he met Altaїr's gaze. He looked awful...what had happened this time?

"Alex," Altaїr said softly, his voice gentle, but intense.

"What?" Alex snapped, his hands moving to the other's legs, trying to push him off.

"Kill me."

Alex stilled. He blinked up at the assassin, shocked by what the other had just said. "You're insane," he said. He huffed an incredulous laugh and shook his head. "You've finally gone bonkers!"

"Shut up!" the assassin snarled. "Take my words seriously! I do not make this request lightly!"

"I'm not going to kill you—" His voice cut off when a flash of light caught his eye. He turned his head and looked at the knife in Altaїr's left hand, which he hadn't seen until then. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, eyeing the blade.

"From the kitchen," the assassin responded. "There was a drawer full of them—I chose the one best suited for the job."

"You specially chose which knife you're going to kill yourself with," Alex said disbelievingly.

"Wrong," Altaїr said vehemently. "I chose the blade _you_ are going to kill _me_ with. I have tried it myself, and I am incompetent enough that I am unable to even end my own life..." He grew somber, sitting atop Alex. "The one aspect of my life I had control of...the option to end it all...and now I haven't even got that." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I don't belong in this place, Alex. I don't belong in this time...I'm lost and alone...I just want it to end."

He could have just ignored him; could have closed his eyes, gone to sleep, and refused to participate in the assassin's pity-party. He could have avoided this whole situation if he hadn't turned down that alley...if he hadn't found Altaїr and brought him home.

"Fine," Alex sighed. "Give me the knife."

"Really?" Altaїr asked, blinking in surprise. "You'll do it?"

"Yes. Now hurry up before I change my mind." He held out his hand expectantly, even impatiently. The assassin seemed to hesitate before turning the knife in his hand and setting the wooden handle in Alex's hand.

Once he had the knife, Alex surged up, flinging the assassin back and pinning him to the mattress. "You wanna die?" he snarled, suddenly furious. He held the edge of the blade to Altaїr's throat, a smudge of blood appearing where it touched the Middle-Easterner's skin.

"Yes," Altaїr replied in a voice which betrayed no emotion. Even now, when he stared death in the face, Altaїr remained strong. He was right..out of his time, out of his country; he was a man with nothing to lose.

"You disgust me." Indignation and anger flashed in Altaїr's eyes, and he opened his mouth to retort, but wasn't given the opportunity. "Some great assassin you are. The minute you're faced with something you're not comfortable with, you give up. Real formidable, bud. My life hasn't exactly been gumdrops and puppies either—do you see me begging people to kill me? No! I fight on because it's my fucking responsibility. I helped create this virus, and I need to stop it—"

"You _created_ this?" Altaїr roared. "_You're_ the reason I'm like this?" He tried to push Alex off of him, but was unable to make the other budge.

"Yes, and now, it's my responsibility to stop it. It's the _reason_ I live. You have a reason. That wife you kept bawling about? She's your reason to live. The baby in her womb is your reason to live. If you die here, that baby grows up without a father. Your wife will wonder where you went for the rest of her life. Do you want that burden on her? Do you want your kid thinking you abandoned him?"

"Of course not!" Altaїr spat.

"Then don't ask me to fucking kill you!" He threw the knife across the room, the anger ebbing away from him. "Now get up and go back to bed." He removed himself from atop the assassin and watched as the other stood from the bed.

Altaїr looked over his shoulder at Alex, a dangerous look in his eyes. "If you ever mention my family again, you will rue the day your mother whelped you." With that, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh no you don't," Alex growled, standing from the bed and following Altaїr out into the hallway. The bedroom door opposite his hand nearly closed when he slammed it open, stalking into the bedroom. "Where do you get off threatening _me_? I just saved your sorry ass from committing suicide."

Altaїr turned to face Alex and grimaced. "A wise man knows when to end an argument."

"And a smart man knows when he's been insulted," Alex countered. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"_You_ are my problem!" Altaїr snapped. "I am cursed because of you, _and_ you lost the Apple! Forgive me if I am not in the best of moods."

"Best? You don't _have_ any other moods! You're always pissy!"

"Now you're insulting me," Altaїr pointed out blandly.

"That's how arguments work, smartass. You're supposed to get angry and—"

_ENOUGH!_ Alex cried out and dropped to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. He folded in on himself, resting his forehead on the floor as agony blossomed over his head and shoulders. Biomass rippled over his skin, and he cried out again.

_You are pathetic! Disgusting! I refuse to watch you idly any longer. You have annoyed me for long enough!_

"Alex! What's wrong?" Altaїr's voice was small, and sounded far away in comparison to the voice in Alex's head. He trembled in pain as he began crawling away from the assassin.

"Get out of my head," he groaned, only just managing to vocalize the words.

_I'm trying to help you, you ungrateful mite_, Zeus hissed angrily. _You obviously won't help yourself, so once again, I have come to make your life that much easier. So shut up, sit back, and watch what happens when you're not such a prick._

Somehow—whether by design, or simply due to him thrashing around in agony—Alex ended up near the bed and was able to use it to climb to his feet. While Biomass writhed over his arms and shoulders, he struggled for control over his body. He fought against his arm as it raised itself and beckoned Altaїr to move toward him.

"Alex, what are you doing?" the assassin asked suspiciously. "Get up on your own..."

"Nah," Alex said slyly as he straightened. He looked at Altaїr with a lecherous gaze. A sickly gray color had settled in the whites of his eyes, and the grin on his lips was certainly not characteristic of him. "I'm not doin' anythin' yet...give me a few minutes, though. I'll come up with somethin'."

Altaїr took a few steps back, tempted to go for the door. Whatever this was, it wasn't Alex. Whenever his eyes glowed like that, something bad had happened. "Alex, I won't be around you when you're like this."

"Aww, but come on," the virus whined, waking toward the assassin. "This is the fun side of me! I like this part of me." He hugged himself for a moment, then grinned wickedly. "now that I have full control, let me show you just how fun I can be."

At this, the assassin reached for the doorknob and opened the bedroom door. He'd nearly cleared it when arms wrapped around his abdomen from behind. He struggled against the arms, trying to pry them off. "Release me!" the assassin demanded.

"Nope," Zeus said, dragging Altaїr back into the bedroom. He kicked the door shut with a foot and threw the assassin onto the bed—quite literally.

Altaїr recovered quickly from the sudden landing and snarled as he came up, trying to roll off the bed. "Alex, don't do this," the assassin growled.

"But it's too much fun," Zeus chuckled. "Now stop whining and get naked."

Altaїr paused at that. He blinked, trying to figure out if there was some kind of alternate meaning behind what the other had just said. Finding none, he tried to formulate a response.

"What? Did I stutter?" Zeus prompted. He took a step closer to the assassin, who knelt on the bed with his hands hovering where the hilt of a sword might have been. "Take your clothes off. Unless you'd rather I did it for you."

Altaїr stared dumbly at Alex for a long moment before he dropped his gaze and moved his hands to his belt. "Why are you doing this?" he asked as he unbuttoned his borrowed jeans.

Zeus crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "You two were boring me, and I'm sick of listening to your bickering. You two are both infected now, so I feel it's time we saw what you're made of."

Altaїr grimaced and stilled his hands. "So this is for entertainment...what do you mean when you say "you two?" There is only you and myself."

"Oh, right! We haven't been introduced." He cleared his throat and smirked. "I'm the Blacklight virus. More commonly, I'm called Zeus."

The assassin raised a skeptical brow. "The name Alex gave me when I met him? I thought that was an alias...I think you should see a Healer...or perhaps a priest."

"_Tsk tsk_," Zeus clucked. "I thought you'd be smarter than that...You see, I'm not a demon, or a spirit of any kind." He raised his right arm, and it burst into a writhing mass of red and black tentacles. "I'm this. I'm the reason Alex here is still kickin'. I am _everything_ special about this insignificant meat-suit." He examined the arm of tendrils almost lovingly, then returned Alex's arm to its original state. "Did I tell you to stop undressing?"

Altaїr blinked at Alex, then shook his head. He began to pull his pants down, frowning as he did. "You're what made him scream earlier," he said matter-of-factly.

Zeus smiled. "Now you're getting it," he said brightly. "See, when I try to take control, he doesn't really like it...I could be nicer about it, but he keeps me cooped up all the time. I don't get to come out and play much. It's much more fun to see him squirm and—oh, would you look at that?"

"What?" Altaїr questioned as he allowed his jeans to fall off the side of the bed. He now knelt on the bed with only his shirt on.

"See, I knew Alex liked you...stand up and turn around."

Trying to stall, Altaїr pointed out, "I haven't finished undressing yet..."

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Zeus strode forward and yanked the T-shirt off of the other. "There," he said, taking a few steps back and tossing the shirt aside. "Now turn around."

Altaїr grimaced, but did as he was told. He turned his head to keep Zeus in his peripheral vision, and found the other to be examining him with a critical eye.

"Yeah," Zeus said thoughtfully. "I can have some fun with you..." He strode forward and placed a hand on the assassin's hip.

"Think about how Alex feels about this," Altaїr said in a last-ditch effort.

Zeus chuckled and shook his head. "Believe me, there are no complaints on this end." He moved his hand down Altaїr's hip and cupped his arse, squeezing it lightly, which caused the assassin to tense. "See, ever since you sucked him back at HQ, Alex has just been itching to get more. Of course, he's too much of a bitch to ask for it, so he stayed quiet. I know what he thinks about, though. Where this mind of his wanders when you're not looking; let me tell you—this guy's got some freaky shit on his bucket-list. And now, you're gonna let him fuck you."

"And why would I do that?" Altaїr asked calmly.

"Because if you don't," Zeus said, stepping forward to press against Altaїr's backside, "you'll be on the menu."

An image of the black and red tentacles he'd seen just moments ago wrapping around a middle-aged Blackwatch soldier flashed through Altaїr's mind, and he flinched. He pushed the memory away before the tentacles absorbed the solider and focused on his current situation.

He didn't doubt the virus' ability to end his life, and despite his earlier episode of manic instability, he wanted to continue living. As much as he hated to admit it, Alex was right...he did have a reason to live. He had a family back in Masyaf. He had a loving wife to return to, and if that meant he had to suffer through one night of indignity, then so be it.

"Are you going to fuck me with your clothes on?" he asked pointedly.

Zeus looked down at himself and frowned. Biomass writhed on his body, and when he pressed himself back against Altaїr, he was stark naked, and already half-erect. "I don't think that's gonna be much of a problem," he whispered against the shell of the assassin's ear. "Do you?"

Altaїr shivered and turned his head away, anger obvious in his demeanor. "Stop playing games, and let's get it over with."

Zeus raised a brow. "I don't think I like that attitude. I recommend you fix it," he challenged. He shoved Altaїr forward, following it up by bending the assassin over the edge of the bed. "When I infected you, I saw the kind of man you are." He pressed himself against Altaїr, grinding his hips against the reluctant man. "Saw what you think...what you dream." He leaned over, gripping Altaїr's short brown hair and pulling it sharply to force the male's head back. "I saw that night...when you demanded those kisses. Drunk as you were, you wouldn't have noticed how bothered Alex was by those kisses...how confused you made him." A wide, almost manic smile spread over his lips, and he put his mouth beside Altaїr's ear, whispering, "I know you liked feeling him in your mouth...I know that fucking your wife just didn't do it for you."

Altaїr opened his mouth to snarl something in reply, but Alex simply tightened his grip, drawing a small, pained sound from the assassin.

"You're a very honorable man, Altaїr. Very honorable, and very powerful...but I wonder how Maria would feel to know about your time with Malik...the boy who hated you, but came to love you for the same reasons he despised you. How would your darling wife react to knowing how many times you fucked that poor, crippled Rafik—"

"Shut up!" Altaїr spat. This earned him a sharp tug on his hair, and Zeus adjusted his position, holding himself up with one arm so the other could better control Altaїr.

"Although I enjoy the feistiness," the virus said lowly, "shut the fuck up, and speak when I ask you to, got it?"

Silence answered him.

"God, you're dense," Zeus muttered, releasing the assassin's hair and taking a step back. "Get on the bed," he ordered. "On your hands and knees."

Altaїr complied, crawling onto the bed and resting on his hands and knees. His muscles were tense, ready to spring into action should the need arise.

"God, you have a fine ass," Zeus muttered as he positioned himself behind Altaїr. His hands moved to the male's arse, rubbing the sun-kissed skin. "See, Alex is telling me not to do this right now...begging, in fact. I know he wants it though. He's just too much of a prude to admit it."

"Then if he's so eager, get on with it," Altaїr said. He closed his eyes, waiting to be punished for speaking out of turn, but no such retribution was delivered.

Instead, Alex said, "Everything he told you was true...all of it."

Altaїr looked over his shoulder, questioning the other with his eyes.

"Yeah, it's really me," Alex said with a nod. "He's controlling my body but...Jesus, this is weird. It's like...those dreams where you're seeing through your own eyes, but you're not making the decisions—"

_Enough. Tell him what you want to say and get on with it before I intervene._

Alex swallowed hard and shook his head slightly. "Altaїr, I can't stop him...this is going to happen whether we want it to or not. I'd rather not...I'd rather..." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Just don't fight him. I don't want him to hurt you.

Altaїr blinked at Alex, trying to keep up with what was going on. "You truly are insane," he said. "Well and truly mad."

Alex closed his eyes, and when they opened again, the sickly gray color had returned to them, and the manic grin followed. "That may be true," Zeus said, "but I don't mind. It's damn fun. Now pucker up, Princess. I'll show you what it means to fuck."


	11. Chapter 11: First Tastes

**Author's Note: Alright, everyone, thank you for being patient and sticking with me on this journey! I'll be taking a break on this one for a while to finish up "Get Rid of It," and once I finish it, I'll be able to focus solely on this one until it too is finished. If any of you have suggestions as to where I should take this story, go ahead and drop me a private message, or leave your suggestion in your review! Stay beautiful, and hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

The assassin hissed in displeasure as a slender finger pressed into his body. His hands balled into fists as the finger pressed deeply into him.

"Suck it up," Zeus said as he began moving his finger back and forth, being gentle at first, but quickly speeding up.

"It isn't something I can control," Altaїr said, wincing as a second finger joined the first.

"Oh, come on. I haven't even gotten started yet. Don't tell me you're gonna puss out on me so soon?"

"Just hurry...this was often the part Malik...complained about." He could just imagine the indignant look that would come over the Rafik's face if he'd heard that comment. He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered the nights and afternoons he'd spent with his best friend, but that was quickly whisked away when Zeus began stretching him. His eyes closed, and he forced his lower body to relax.

"Aaaalmost there," Zeus whispered in a nearly sing-song voice. He pulled two of his fingers from the male's entrance and spat into his hand. He rubbed himself, wetting his member before pressing his tip to the tight ring of muscle. "Ready?"

"No, I'm n—"

"That was a rhetorical question." He braced his hands on Altaїr's slender hips and began pressing him into the other.

Altaїr's body tensed, and his mouth opened in a strangled sound somewhere between pained and indignant. He gripped the blanket beneath him tight enough that his knuckles turned white, and he gritted his teeth.

"Allah give me strength," he whispered, hanging his head as his arms began to tremble.

"Strength to do what?" Zeus chuckled in a breathy voice. He adjusted the positioning of his knees and pushed himself in as far as the assassin's body would allow. "Damn you have a tight ass," the virus panted.

"And you are quite vulgar," Altaїr retorted sharply, his teeth grinding as he spoke.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Zeus's voice sounded strained as he started pulling himself out. He closed his eyes as he began rutting his hips, grinding them against Altaїr's rear with each thrust. His fingers dug into the assassin's hips and upper thighs, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. It had been a _very_ long time since Alex had a proper night with someone. At least six months before the Blacklight outbreak. That was partly his fault, but he could have at least used his hand, or something—

"Mnah!" Altaїr moaned, failing in trying to stifle the cry.

Zeus chuckled throatily. "Told ya you'd like it." He strengthened his thrusts and quickened his pace, leaning forward to press his front against Altaїr's back. The dull slap of skin against skin filled the small room, and with it came harried pants and gasps from the assassin.

"This your first time on bottom?" Zeus asked, reaching around Altaїr's front to stroke the other's member in time with his thrusts.

"Ah! Mmn...y-yes, it is...mnh..." He clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks reddening due to the embarrassing sounds he was making. This was all very disturbing...very...pleasurable.

"Fuck," Zeus moaned, straightening and thrusting ever harder into the male in front of him. "Such...a waste. Can't even last for fifteen minutes..."

Altaїr would have wept in relief if he hadn't a shred of dignity left. He closed his eyes and hug his head again. He wouldn't last much longer than Alex—Zeus?—at this rate.

"When you come," Zeus panted, thrusting almost desperately now, "call out his name. Sc-scream it...ah, fuck..." He gripped Altaїrs hips with bruising force and yanked him back with each thrust. He grunted and let out a low moan as his orgasm crashed over him. His hips moved slowly, rocking against the assassin as he rode out the ecstasy.

The familiar throbbing sensation in Altaїr's lower belly grew stronger when Zeus pulled out of him. The virus pulled him up onto his knees by his hair, then shoved him roughly back onto the bed. He instinctively raised his legs as if to kick an enemy off of him, but he delivered no such blow. Instead, his hand wrapped around himself as he lay panting in front of Zeus.

That lecherous grin had returned to Alex's face, and the sickly gray color hadn't faded from his eyes.

"Need a little help?" the virus asked as he reached a hand down and slipped two fingers easily into Altaїr's accepting body. "I really filled you up, didn't I?" he said, batting Altaїr's hand away. His own hand took hold of the assassin's member, and he stroked it slowly as his fingers rubbed and pressed along Altaїr's walls.

"Ah! F-fuh...," the assassin moaned. He closed his eyes and shuddered violently as the pressure became a rushed throbbing. He rolled his hips into Zeus's hands and gasped when his orgasm took him. "Alex!" he cried as his seed spilled onto his front.

"That's right," Zeus murmured throatily. He closed his eyes and retracted his will, giving control back to his host.

_You deal with the cleanup._

Alex swayed for a moment and blinked a few times. It took him a while to realize what had just happened, and when he did, he jerked his hands back, moving away from Altaїr and nearly falling off the bed in his haste.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, surveying the scene before him. Altaїr lay on the bed in front of him, panting heavily with his legs spread and bent. The room smelled of sweat and was unbearably hot. "That didn't...I did _not_ just..." He shook his head and tried to ignore the trembling in his limbs.

"I believe we have some things to discuss," Altaїr panted before forcing himself into a sitting position. "But first...I want a shower."

Alex stared at the assassin through wide, disbelieving eyes. "Why are you not furious?" he asked.

The color high on Altaїr's cheeks deepened, and he pulled the blanket up to cover himself. "Because I'm not certain if I should be...considering the circumstances, I have every right to be seething and snarling right now..."

"But?" Alex prompted.

Altaїr remained silent for a moment, then said, "It wasn't entirely unwelcome..."

* * *

With the few hours the two of them had managed to sleep, Alex and Altaїr decided that their want for showers and their inability to sleep the rest of the night were incentive enough to get moving once again. They found themselves walking across various rooftops with pre-dawn light at their backs.

"If they haven't already ransacked the place," Alex said as they leapt a gap between two brick rooftops, "the Apple is under the floorboards under the couch."

"You hid the most lethal weapon your time—and mine for that matter—has ever seen under a piece of furniture?"

"Hey, it was either there or in the microwave. After the coffee-maker practically blew up on you, I knew you wouldn't go near anything in the kitchen again."

Altaїr rolled his eyes and leapt nimbly from a power-box to the next rooftop. "Cross addressed you as if he knew you," he said. "Who is he to you?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like...is he a former colleague? Someone you once considered a friend?"

Alex snorted. "Yeah. Real friend material that ass-hole is." He jumped high into the air, clinging lightly to the side of the next building while Altaїr made his way down to the abandoned street and started climbing up. Once they both reached the roof of the skyscraper, he continued. "Cross and I go back a ways, but not for any kind of good reason—"

"Slow down for a moment," Altaїr said, wincing. He knelt on the roof and closed his eyes, gripping his abdomen.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, immediately alert and aware of everything around them. The distant sounds of New York proper reached him first since they were louder even than the snarling and growling of the Infected less than three blocks away from them. In the silence of Manhattan, it was stunning how loud life was...

"My stomach," the assassin gasped.

"What's it feel like?" Alex asked, kneeling beside Altaїr and looking him over. No visible injuries...he didn't smell blood.

"Like I haven't eaten in five days—and yes, I know how that feels."

'Shit,' Alex thought viciously.

_Somebody's hungry_, Zeus sang in Alex's head, a small laugh following the intonation.

"Shut up," Alex spat aloud.

"What?" Altaїr asked, looking to the man beside him. "I didn't say anything..."

"No, not you."

_Careful. He might start to think you're insane. Oh wait, he already does._

'Not helping,' Alex growled internally. Aloud, he said, "Alright. So...this is the part you didn't want to think about earlier..."

Altaїr raised his eyes to meet Alex's, and a shudder rippled through him. "God, no," he croaked.

Alex nodded slowly. "Yeah...you're hungry. And nothing food-wise is gonna make it go away. You've gotta eat...well..."

"A human."

"Yeah..."

The assassin stood, and the motion seemed to cause him extreme pain. "I refuse to do it," he said, beginning to limp forward.

"You don't have a choice," Alex said as he followed. "Remember what happened back at HQ?"

"Vividly."

"That happened because I couldn't feed myself. I couldn't feed the virus, so the virus fed itself. It would have eaten you too." He stepped in front of Altaїr and stopped, forcing the other to either go around him or stop as well—he chose the latter.

"I refuse to devour human flesh. I may not be from your time, but I am no barbarian. I will find a way to satisfy the hunger without resorting to ending another human's life."

"It's not that easy," Alex said as he put himself in front of the assassin again—this earned him a scowl. "You're hungry right now. Wait another two hours, and you'll feel like you're starving to death. By noon, you'll be too hungry to focus on anything else, and you'll go rabid. You think what I did earlier was bad? That was nothing compared to what you could do. You're fresh—brand new at this. I've had time to temper it. Time to figure out how to control it—"

"You surely controlled it well last night," Altaїr muttered.

"—for the most part," Alex finished, glaring at the other. "You _need_ to eat. It's not a matter of whether you want to or not. You can't afford _not_ to."

Altaїr cringed as another spasm of pain passed through him, but he tried again to press forward. When Alex didn't step out of the way, he ground his teeth. "Do you know the creed by which I live?"

"I'm not an assassin, so no, I don't."

"We work in the dark to serve the light. That is what we live by. Our three tenets—the laws by which we live and breathe—are: Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent, Hide in plain sight, and Never compromise the Brotherhood. Is what you are asking me to do violating any of those tenets?"

Alex blinked. "Is this a pop quiz?"

"It violates _all_ of them, you oaf!" Altaїr shouted. "I live by my oath, and I will die by it. When I became a Master, I swore to protect those who are not strong enough to protect themselves. I will _not_ rescind my vow."

"Think of it this way," Alex said, trying to control the situation. "How many men have you killed in your career as an assassin?"

"It is not a job," Altaїr said reproachfully, lowering his gaze. He didn't want to answer the question...

"How many?" Alex pressed.

Altaїr closed his eyes and tried to find a comparable number—he couldn't. "Too many," he said. "I couldn't try to count them."

"So a lot." Altaїr nodded in agreement. "How many of them thought themselves innocent?"

The assassin blinked at that. "All of them...I suppose."

"Then wouldn't that mean you slaughtered innocent people? After all, whose definition of innocent are you going by? Your own, right? Yours and your Order's. What if there's another Order out there who thinks that what you think to be innocent is really guilty? And what you think to be guilty is innocent? There is no true definition of innocence, Altaїr. What makes you think there is any dividing line between what makes people good and bad? There are bad people in the world who do good things, and there are good people who do bad things."

Altaїr's head throbbed painfully, and he took a step back from the other. "Stop," he said, holding a hand up to Alex.

"No, alright? I think you need to hear this. You rely on your Creed, and use it as your defense against evil. But what if your defense is wrong? What if it's just as corrupt and evil as what you've been fighting against?" If he could shake Altaїr enough, he might be able to get him to see sense...to see what he had to do.

"Stop talking!" Altaїr snapped. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Really?" Alex asked. "I made something thinking it would be used for the betterment of society. And it turned out to be something horrible that killed a lot of people. You don't think that maybe—just maybe—your Creed couldn't be the same?"

Altaїr shook his head and turned away from Alex. He shuddered violently and hugged his arms tightly to his torso, keening faintly from the pain. "I can't...I can't do this right now, Alex...It hurts so much..."

It seemed like two hours had been a generous allowance... "Look at me, Altaїr," Alex ordered. He didn't continue until he had the other's mostly undivided attention. "Would you rather devour one human now? Or devour and kill a few dozen later? Either way, you're going to have to suck it up and do this."

"You're asking me to go against everything that I am...everything I was raised to believe," he whispered hoarsely.

"No. I'm asking you to choose the lesser of two evils. You think I like eating people? Well...it used to bother me, but I try to consume people who are infected. You could do the same after a few times."

"Why couldn't I just start with eating the Infected?" he croaked. "They're not human...not really."

"You could, but you'd have to eat a helluva lot more. And they're not nearly as satisfying...you'll have to eat more of them sooner than if you ate just one or two humans."

"Take me to an infected area," Altaїr said without hesitation.

Alex sighed and shook his head. Morality...sometimes he wondered what it would be like if he still had any. "Follow me, then," he said and took off walking to the left.

* * *

Three rooftops and a parking lot later, Alex and Altaїr arrived at the nearest infected area, and by that point, looked as if he were about to faint.

"Over here," Alex said, leading the assassin toward an alleyway. "I'll lead one over, and you...well, the infection will do the rest."

"Wait..wait a moment," Altaїr stammered. He waited until Alex turned to face him before he continued speaking. "Why am I not like the others? Like the ones wandering the streets?"

Blinking, Alex took a moment to process the question. "Well...uh...it might be because..." He frowned at that. "I don't know, actually. Maybe because you were infected directly by the source?"

The assassin nodded and limped forward, suppressing a whimper as another pang of agonizing hunger seared through him.

"Alright," Alex said, placing a hand on Altaїr's shoulder to steer him so his back was pressed flush against the building. "Wait here, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Once Alex left, Altaїr shuddered and leaned heavily back against the wall. "Please hurry," he whispered, closing his eyes. He tried to ignore the pain that gripped him in wave after merciless wave. He didn't have to wait for long, but it was long enough to nearly drive him mad.

"It's right behind me," Alex said as he jogged into the alley. "Best thing to do is to—"

"Just get out of my way," the assassin rasped. He didn't wait for Alex to move; instead, he shoved past the other in a staggering lumber. Twice, he stumbled and nearly fell, but he managed to remain vertical.

The infected was of medium stature. Its right arm was large and bulbous, disproportionate to the rest of its nude form. The creature might have been female at some point, but it was too ravaged by the virus to really tell.

Screeching, the infected being charged at Altaїr, its mouth gaping, saliva dripping from its lips.

Altaїr might have felt a flash of fear if he hadn't been so excited about the prospect of finally easing the pain.

"Come on," he hissed at the creature lumbering toward him. They weren't far from each other now, but still, the distance was too great. "Come on!" the assassin roared, trembling now.

The infected human loosed a snarl as it came within five feet of Altaїr and swiped at the assassin. Pain lanced across Altaїr's arm where the creature's nails sliced his flesh, but it was dim and unimportant alongside his hunger. Altaїr reached out both hands and braced himself with one foot behind him. His shoulder rammed into the infected's chest and everything seemed to slow down.

The impact drove the assassin back a pace, and he closed his eyes. In what seemed like an explosion of motion, tendrils burst from his arms, trapping the infected like an insect on fly paper.

Slowly, the pain eased. The hunger subsided as the tendrils covered the infected. Within seconds, the creature was no more than a snarling, salivating memory, and Altaїr stood alone, panting from the effort and practically moaning in the bliss of painlessness. He looked down at his arm and watched as his flesh stitched itself together. It itched madly, but within seconds, his forearm was once again a smooth expanse of olive-toned skin. "Isn't that handy?" he mumbled.

"Feels good," Alex said softly as he stepped up beside the assassin. "Doesn't it?"

Altaїr looked at the shorter male and nodded once.

"Makes you feel powerful..." Again, a nod. "Alive." Thrice, the nod. "Are you still hungry?"

The assassin clenched his trembling hands into fists and drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. "Starving," he replied.

Alex nodded in response and turned to walk down the alley. "You're already scary," he said over his shoulder. "Now let's turn you into a full-fledged nightmare."


End file.
